


The Only One I Ever Believed In

by snark_sniper



Series: Love Is Strong Enough [formerly "unnamed soulmate AU collection"] [4]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Letters, M/M, Nobility, Slow Build, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, commoners, mentions of other pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-07-12 13:32:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 44,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7106974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snark_sniper/pseuds/snark_sniper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred, bastard son of Lord Williams, has always assumed his soulmate would believe in their bond as much as he does. Ivan, heir to the Braginski family, has always pretended he didn't have a soulmate.</p><p>[Now with epilogue: Love Is Strong Enough]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Matthew and Lars

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is dedicated to Chameleon Incognito (on fanfiction.net) who asked about a rusame followup to The Thought of Having You Around, and to TomatoGilbird (on AO3) who asked about GerIta. (Please note, however, that this fic does not need to be read along with Not With Haste or The Thought of Having You Around, although they take place on the same timeline.)
> 
> In Not With Haste, I wrote about two people who were emotionally ready to build a life with their soulmate by the time they met. In The Thought of Having You Around, I wrote about one person being ready, and the other slowly warming up. In this story, I wanted to write about two people who - no matter what Alfred might tell you - were NOT ready to meet. I feel like I owe somebody an apology for starting with fluff and getting into angst. I guess that comes with delving deeper into the fucked-up system that the soulmate universe actually is.
> 
> The title comes from "Let Love In" by the Goo Goo Dolls, my go-to inspiration song as I brainstormed this fic.

As he sets foot in the parlor, Alfred adjusts his rough cotton tunic. He hasn’t had new clothing in about a year, and his mother—his heart exhales to remember her voice—predicted he would need something to cover the growing lankiness of a ten-year-old boy. She was right.

The parlor he enters is lit by the clear sunniness outside the bay windows. His footsteps, which echoed in the hallway, are dulled by a wine-colored rug leading to the armchair beside the window.

The man he’s visiting looks up from his book. He wears spectacles, something Alfred has seen only on the tailor and on people who buy the most expensive meat at the butcher’s. He has golden hair, like Alfred’s, but his brown eyes contrast with Alfred’s blue.

“Yes?” asks the man.

Alfred feels like he should clear his throat. Or bow, or something. He doesn’t. He simply hands out the folded paper in rough parchment. He can’t read it, but he’s opened it many times to examine his mother’s handwriting.

The man looks at the paper in Alfred’s outstretched hand, then nods. He reaches to a purse on the table beside him and emerges with two silver coins. “For your troubles,” he says, setting the coins on the table where Alfred can easily reach them.

Alfred places the paper on top of the coins. He doesn’t touch them, but steps backwards and holds his hands behind his back.

The man raises an eyebrow bemusedly. “Are you to stay?”

“I think so. Mom said so. Her name was Sarah, and she said you’d know her.”

The man’s light smile disappears. Before Alfred can register it, the man has snatched the paper from the table and is reading it. He reads it multiple times, based on how his eyes scan up and down the page. Alfred holds his breath. He may not be able to read that letter, but he knows what it says. He also knows how cruel nobles like this man can be.

The man looks up sharply from the paper, his jaw undone and his composure with it. Alfred straightens his back and throws back his shoulders.

The man stands. Crouches on one knee before Alfred.

“You have her eyes,” he whispers. And then he’s hugging Alfred.

Alfred remains still. And then—he doesn’t know which happens first—he wraps his arms around his father and begins to laugh.

The man—his father, Lord Williams—chuckles too, and pulls apart. “Why are you laughing?”

“I’m happy to finally meet you! Mother said I had to be good, because maybe you couldn’t take me.” Alfred’s smile dims slightly. “You, uh. Can take me, right?”

“And abandon my own son? I could never.”

Alfred gasps. “And—and I’ll get to have my own room? And we can eat supper every night?”

“Yes, yes, Alfred.” Lord Williams cups Alfred’s cheek. “You’ll never want again.”

“And I’ll get to be a lord one day!”

“Ah.” A choked sound from Lord Williams.

“And I’ll start programs for everybody who lives in the city, and I’ll make new laws so that soulmates can marry, so then nobody will have to hide their soulmates like you and Mother did, and everybody will learn how to read so then Mom won’t be afraid to teach me, and—oh!” Alfred rolls up his sleeve to show his father, whose face has grown grimmer with every word Alfred says. “We can get help from _my_ soulmate!”

He bares his arm for his father to examine. He got the words around his seventh birthday. It prompted his mother to not only explain the concept of soulmates—how, since Alfred’s soulmate learned to read and write, the first words his soulmate will say to him appear directly on his left arm—but to explain who Alfred’s father was.

Alfred’s parents were soulmates, but Lord Marcus Williams had no words on his arm to indicate an upperclass, literate soulmate. Sarah Jones, on the other hand, had the cursive handwriting of a noble. While applying for work she was found by the registration service, and the Williams family elected to provide her a small fund to stay away from their son and heir. Marcus Williams, three years after marrying another noblewoman, found records of the deal and managed several visits with Sarah until his family discovered his absences.

Alfred is the result. His mother called him a hero, for saving her from sadness every time she thought of the soulmate she’d sworn to avoid. Alfred promised her at her deathbed to carry on his services. And he’s not about to let her down.

Alfred has everything planned out. He knows his soulmate is a noble, so he’ll meet them and marry them using his own status as heir. And then he’ll use his status as husband to a noble and the next Lord Williams to make it so that not one more person smiles as wistfully as his mother did—that no mother smooths her child’s hair when she thinks he’s asleep and sighs with the pain of a final breath.

Alfred can’t save his mother. But he can save his life with his own soulmate, and he can improve the lives of people like his mother who are forbidden their soulmates, and it’s all thanks to the fact that Lord Williams is going to name Alfred his—

“Alfred, you cannot be my heir.”

Alfred’s smile freezes. “What?”

“These words are…” Lord Williams pushes down Alfred’s arm to rest at his side. “Obviously noble. But they change nothing. You are a bastard, Alfred, and my heir must be a pureblood.”

“But—but you don’t have anyone else—”

“I have another son,” says Lord Williams, placing his hand on Alfred’s slumping shoulder. “Matthew, born of the woman I married before she passed. Your mother asked me only to take you in, and I will do her one better because in my heart I will have two sons. But Alfred, I cannot claim you as my heir. The Williams family would lose everything to have a bastard for a lord.”

“So what do I do?” asks Alfred quietly. His ideas sink from his brain, adding to the pit that grows in his stomach and pulls down on his aching heart. It’s not that he’s upset about not being an heir; it’s that the one plan he clung to after his mother died is being pulled out from under his feet. “Do I—do I get to learn to read? Am I a servant now? Or a ward?”

“You are my son,” says his father firmly, now standing. “And the son of my soulmate. I have two sons now, both fine young lads.”

“What about my words?”

His father pauses. “Matthew does not have his words yet. But Alfred, while I intend to give you every luxury I can, I can do little without drawing attention. Your mother kept you from me—not just herself, but you—for fear of harm to my family. She understood that.”

“No she didn’t.” Alfred rubs his eyes as he thinks of his mother, willing the welling tears to dry up. “She never did. She always said, ‘Alfred, if I could go back in time and refuse the bribe—’”

“Alfred,” says Lord Williams in the sharpest voice he’s yet used. He turns to look back out the window. “We will speak of your place here later. Please step outside and find the butler who let you in. Tell him I mean to give you any chamber you want. It will be yours. Choose wisely.”

Lord Williams, Alfred’s father, sits down in his chair. He opens the book he was reading, but his eyes stay on one spot.

Alfred swallows around the lump in his throat. He takes a few moments to breathe until he can do so without the weight of disappointment crushing his chest. Then he turns around and speed-walks down the carpet he came from, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

“Mattie, I can’t let you do this.”

“You don’t really have a say in it, Al,” his brother sighs. Alfred and Matthew are waiting in Matthew’s bedroom. Alfred’s seventeen-year-old body is splayed across Matthew’s bed, while twenty-year-old Matthew sits ramrod straight at his writing desk beside the window. They’re waiting for the carriage that will bring Matthew’s doom.

“Sure I do,” continues Alfred. “I told you when I first saw you that we were going to be friends, and I was right then.”

“I still can’t believe you thought barging into a thirteen-year-old’s bedroom was a good idea.

“Then I told you when you turned eighteen that Dad was going to notice your words if you cut the birthday cake yourself, and—”

“And we don’t need to revisit that.” Matthew swivels in his seat to face Alfred, who immediately presses his lips together. Matthew’s nostrils are flaring, and Alfred knows after six years of being Matthew’s brother that now is a good time to stop whatever he’s doing.

“I just wish—why can’t you be one of those nobles who runs away?” asks Alfred.

“A Williams doesn’t run.”

“I’m a Williams. I would run.”

“Heroes don’t run either.”

“No, heroes intervene!” Alfred sits up on the bed. “Mattie, what if I brought Lars over? He could walk in, stop the whole thing, and then you wouldn’t have to marry a woman who’s a year older than you.”

Alfred honestly has nothing against Yekaterina Braginski; from Matthew’s account, she seemed nice enough at the dinner the Williams and Braginski families shared, when they entertained the notion of their children staging. Alfred couldn’t attend because his father was doing well enough, but because Lord Williams’s health is failing, Alfred will attend today’s staging and pretend to be his father’s servant and nurse. He will watch Yekaterina Braginski say the words on his brother’s arm, thus forcing a bond that mimics a soulmate’s. But isn’t quite.

“First of all,” says Matthew “it doesn’t matter to me whether she’s a year older than me. She has no words, and I have the wrong words, and it’s a convenient match.”

“Oh yeah, Mattie, that sounds exactly like what you want—a _convenient_ match. Not romantic, not what you would have with your soulmate—”

“ _Second of all_ ,” says Matthew so harshly that Alfred slinks back a little in the bed, “even if I wanted Lars, how could we make it work? I don’t—we can’t have children, and he’s running so many illegal side businesses that we’d be ruined if he brought them here, and—”

“And he’s your _soul. Mate._ ”

“And he _doesn’t_. _Want me_.”

“I mean, he does want you, he just—”

“He doesn’t want the idea of me. He doesn’t want a noble life. Al, why do you think he’s selling records of people’s words and handwriting, and teaching people to read without registering them, and smuggling between the ports, all of which are illegal—when I saw him five months after our first meeting, after we first said our words, at a _gala?_ ” For the first time since he sat, Matthew’s posture slumps. “He may be a noble too, but he thinks I’m insane for wanting to stay one. He thinks I rely too much on the family title, and you know what? He might be right.”

“But Mattie,” says Alfred, climbing to the edge of the bed to better look his brother in the eye, “you don’t have to. You could…I don’t know, prove him wrong?”

“Al, I did exactly one illegal thing in my lifetime, and that was asking him to see the records.” Matthew subconsciously tugs at the edge of his left sleeve, hiding the words _May I help you?_ According to Matthew, when he’d said the countering phrase— _I was hoping to look through your records_ —Lars stood still for a good fifteen seconds before surrendering two tomes and leaving the room. “And that,” adds Matthew to Alfred, “was at your encouragement. I don’t…I don’t plan to go breaking any laws. Not even for him. And I don’t think he’s going to respect my way of thinking, either.”

“And what’s your way of thinking?” asks Alfred. He thinks he can guess it, but he’s almost nervous to hear it.

“That…I don’t know. That between a huge risk like Lars and a safe bet like Mistress Braginski—well, I’m tired of risking.”

“Mattie, if there were any time to risk, now is it! There’s still time, you can go find—well, okay, maybe don’t find Lars, but at least you can avoid the staging right now. Give yourself some time, think about this, make sure this is right.”

“With all I was talking with Lars,” says Matthew, standing, “I’ve given myself enough thought. He’s…handsome. Yeah. And good to talk to. But I just…”

Alfred stands and grabs Matthew by the shoulders. Despite that he’s three years older than his brother, they’re almost the same height. Alfred tries to use this to his advantage. “Are you sure, Mattie? Because it sounds like you like him.”

Matthew exhales. “Of course I like him. That’s what my heart says. But you know what my mind is saying? Don’t choose him. I can’t abandon this family, Al, no matter how many times you offer to be heir, and I don’t care if you’re joking. Even if I didn’t care about the title, Father would be heartbroken.” Matthew places a hand atop Alfred’s and squeezes it. “I think he found a good person in Mistress Braginski. And…so what if Lars is handsome and smart and interesting, and so what if we get along well? He’s not the only one I can get along with, and he’s certainly not interested in building a life with me. So I won’t choose him.”

Alfred examines Matthew up and down. “I’m just worried that you’re making a huge mistake.”

“I can tell,” says Matthew. “But I’ve thought about this, I promise.” He gently lifts Alfred’s hands from off of his shoulders, and walks towards his wardrobe to put on his best waistcoat.

Alfred stands watching him, wearing only his loose cotton undershirt. He hasn’t even bothered changing. A recently unearthed part of him hoped that he would convince his brother to let the soulmate bond mean something.

But he’s already meddled enough, encouraging Matthew to meet Lars and trying to be his brother’s hero. He’s distracted their father from Matthew’s absences. Recently he’s wrapped his arms around Matthew as he cried, embarrassed and disappointed and heartbroken by a soulmate who rejected his match.

Alfred believes as firmly in the necessity of soulmates as he did when he was ten. But if his only brother has tried and failed to find happiness with his own soulmate—no matter how much it wounds Alfred to see—Alfred needs to accept his choice to leave him. A hero knows when he’s doing more harm than good.

Alfred sighs and makes his way to the door. “Wear the blue coat. It looks good. And I’ll wear some blue too.”

Matthew throws a somber smile over his shoulder. “Thanks, Al.”

* * *

 

“Alright there, Dad?”

“Perfectly fine, Alfred.” Despite himself, Lord Williams heaves a rasping cough to punctuate himself. Most of the wedding reception doesn’t notice; only Matthew turns his head from the ballroom floor to frown.

Alfred sighs. His father is as well as he can be, anyway. “Well, then let me at least keep you company.” He pulls out a chair beside his father’s and makes to sit. His seat, however, has a prime view of the servants’ entrance.

Alfred’s eyes narrow.

“Actually, let me go get you some tea.” Alfred stands even before he can fully sit.

“My boy, it’s really not necessary—”

“I’ll be right back.”

Alfred sweeps through the mingling nobles, unseen due to his clean but plainly-stitched clothing marking him as a high-rank servant. Uncharacteristically, the man he’s chasing down wears the richly embroidered clothing of the class he scorns.

“Leave,” says Alfred when he approaches the corner of the ballroom near the servants’ entrance. No nobles are within ten feet of the two of them, so he can speak as freely and as harshly as he wants.

Lars eyes him. He’s several inches taller and years older than Alfred, and Alfred tries to puff himself up to accommodate the difference.

“I was invited,” Lars counters. He reaches for his collar as if by habit, and then stops himself. He isn’t wearing the white and blue scarf Matthew always described him as wearing, which is perhaps Lars’s saving grace—Matthew would have spotted him instantly if he’d worn it.

“Your father was invited,” says Alfred. “You were invited because it’d be an insult not to include you. But we couldn’t write on the invitation that Mattie doesn’t want you here.”

“Then he should have told me himself,” says Lars. He sets his gaze away from Alfred, out to the dance floor. Matthew is attempting to twirl his bride, Yekaterina, who looks too embarrassed to move. Alfred feels awkward for them both.

“He was busy,” says Alfred. “He told me to pass on the message.”

“I _got_ the message,” says Lars. He jams his hands in the pockets of his coat. Another defensive move.

Alfred pauses at the bitterness of his voice. His eyes wander to Lars’s left arm, hidden by his coat’s sleeve.

“They’re not gone,” says Lars suddenly.

“What?”

“His words. They’re still there.”

Lars is addressing the misconception that words disappear when a soulmate stages. The idea is spread largely among the noble class, to reassure staged children that their soulmates won’t have to live with the reminder of lost love. However, commoners like Alfred and his mother—more often than not the true victims of staging—know much better.

“I know,” says Alfred more quietly. “But did it hurt?”

“It burned. Like somebody rammed a fire poker into every letter.”

Alfred is silent. His mother never told him.

“My client noticed me stop suddenly. It couldn’t have happened at a worse time for business—he was one of my students. Learning to read to give words to his soulmate. He ended the lesson early because he thought I needed to be alone. But I think he was scared the same would happen to him.

“That’s not the worst part, though,” Lars continues, now almost murmuring. His eyes remain trained on Matthew, but his gaze is unfocused. “The worst part is that the words are still there. He can lie to himself and say he has his wife’s handwriting. I can’t.”

Alfred suddenly understands why Lars’s hands are very intently in his coat pockets. Alfred is assaulted with the strongest urge to stare at his own words, regardless that he never learned to read them. He doesn’t know what comfort they’ll offer him—they serve only as a reminder that he has something to lose.

“Matthew doesn’t want me here?” Lars says. “Fine.”

“…Look, Lars, I’m sorry. I’m just passing on what he told me. It’s nothing personal.”

“It’s not your fault, Alfred. You can’t fix this broken system.” Lars straightens himself from the wall he was leaning on. He raises an eyebrow at Alfred’s surprised expression. “Of course I know who you are. Your brother told me when I told him I have two bastard cousins. My question is,” he says, his eyes flickering to Yekaterina on the dance floor, “has he told her?”

“We—we were planning on it tomorrow at breakfast,” says Alfred.

“Mm.” Lars nods. “Alfred, consider this. You’re lucky to have been born outside of—this.” He waves vaguely to the nobility in attendance. “Frankly, I don’t understand why you’re so determined to work yourself in. You’d be freer out of it.”

Lars leaves before Alfred can think of a response.

Alfred stands against the wall, staring at the mass of well-adorned nobles and thinking. He certainly values freedom. In his boyhood he cherished his ability to go anywhere his feet could take him. As he began living with his father, he learned to enjoy slipping between the roles of servant and confidante and well-off peasant and secret noble. He’s afforded certain luxuries as a lord’s son, but he avoids certain responsibilities.

Alfred only recently became aware that the freedom he has is denied to Matthew. With every year away from boyhood and especially this past year, Matthew becomes more the public son, the well-behaved young man who can no longer afford to stay up late with Alfred or explore the woods or take up messy baking lessons. Matthew is the rightful heir, and until their father’s health declined and Matthew needed to take the role more seriously, Alfred fervently believed that his brother could at least balance his soulmate with his other responsibilities. It was why he encouraged Matthew to find Lars—if he knew his soulmate, he could make plans.

But now Matthew has met Lars—multiple times and with much more intimacy than Alfred expected, for Lars to know Alfred’s name—and has chosen not to marry him. Alfred came around to Matthew’s way of thinking because he had only Matthew’s account to go by: Lars didn’t want a noble life, and Matthew did. Matthew chose freely.

But now, having met Lars, Alfred’s stomach sinks to think that his brother made a huge mistake. Lars doesn’t care about nobility, but he does care about Matthew. Alfred sees it in every hint of pain in his arm, in his speech, in his gaze. And Matthew has cast him aside.

And, Alfred ponders morosely as he meanders back to his father’s table, Matthew isn’t the only noble who can purposefully cast aside his soulmate. Alfred has all the freedom he wants—he only wants it for his brother, and for the soulmate he’ll one day meet.

Something bumps into Alfred’s side, and red liquid spills all over the left of Alfred’s white tunic.

“Excuse me. I did not mean to cause such a mess.”

Alfred’s eyes narrow. Those words—he made Mattie read them to him every day since the day they met.

Is this…?

His mood brightens instantly, and he beams. “It’s okay—a hero can fix anything!”

Alfred almost immediately cringes. He hasn’t referred to himself as a hero since his father first fell ill. He hasn’t felt like much of one. But, putting himself back into balance and letting his eyes fall over the person who spoke _his_ words, he feels invincible.

His soulmate is taller than him by a good foot, but about the same age as him at seventeen. Unlike Lars, he has decided to wear a scarf to this occasion—a worn grey one peering out from beneath the collar of his shirt. His face is pale and wide, with a square jaw and a regal nose and—

Alfred almost drops his jaw at the eyes. They’re blue pale enough to border on violet, and they’re staring at him with increasing interest.

“May I—ah, may I offer you a napkin?” The young man starts feeling at the pockets of his jacket, but then looks back at a table, probably his, with a helpless expression. Alfred wants to laugh—not just from the way his soulmate looks so lost, but from surprise (to meet his soulmate at his brother’s wedding of all places) and from awe (of course his soulmate is a man) and from relief.

“I already said I could fix it, didn’t I?” he says. The young man’s attention returns to him. “It’s a quick wash, no problem. I’d take your name, though.”

His soulmate’s expression looks at him quizzically. Alfred wonders what’s so strange about his question—wouldn’t he want a name for his soulmate?—until the young man speaks. “I am Ivan Braginski. Brother of the bride, and brother-in-law of your employer’s father.”

“Oh. _Oh._ Yeah, I remember you,” says Alfred. The fog of his words being spoken is lifted, and he remembers his brother’s staging with more clarity. He’d been focused on Matthew, wondering if he would actually go through with the words, and on his father’s comfort at all other times. But staging involves two families, and Yekaterina’s younger brother and sister were in fact present. Silent, obedient, but present.

“I confess that I only barely remember you,” says Alfred’s soulmate— _Ivan_ , he thinks, _or is he Master Braginski to me?_ “My sister’s…engagement was of high interest to me.”

“Really?” Alfred grabs his soulmate’s wrist without thinking, and pulls him a few steps away and into the servants’ entrance. It’s the most thought he puts into hiding their conversation, as enthusiasm has taken hold of him. Once inside the corridor, he leans in with a growing smile. “Thank the fates, me too. I really wondered if Mattie was going to do it, I was so nervous for him, but he insisted he had to—”

“Mattie?” asks Ivan, cocking his head.

“Oh. Yeah, um. Your brother-in-law is actually my brother. Just so ya know,” says Alfred. His smile grows slightly nervous. His soulmate is also technically his brother-in-law. But worse things have happened, he reasons. He’ll take any reasoning he can get at this point to justify the fact that _his soulmate_ is standing before him, handsome and breathing and actually _existing_ and slowly becoming more confused.

“But you are a servant of the Williams household—”

“Nah, that’s what we tell everyone so I can listen in sometimes. No, I’m Lord Williams’s bastard son.” He thrusts out his hand to shake. “Alfred.”

Ivan looks between the hand and Alfred’s beaming face. He’s thinking hard about something, and Alfred wills him to smile back. After a few seconds, he doesn’t, but he does take Alfred’s hand.

“A pleasure to meet you, brother-in-law.”

Ivan makes to let go of Alfred’s hand, but as he does, Alfred takes the chance to hug Ivan. He can already imagine himself curling up with this body, pressing against him as they sit together somewhere comfortable. His manor, Ivan’s manor, Alfred doesn’t care.

Until he senses Ivan stiffening between his arms.

“What’s wrong?” asks Alfred, looking up but still hugging him.

“Please let go.”

Alfred does, and furrows his brow. A quick glance confirms that Alfred’s wine-stained shirt has pressed only to the dark parts of Ivan’s jacket. That doesn’t seem to be Ivan’s main concern.

“Why did you do that?” Ivan asks, his gaze more curious than accusing.

Alfred sorts through his mind for a response. _Because I’m happy to meet you. Because I’ve been waiting for you. Because you’re even more handsome than I expected. Because you were worried about your sister’s staging. Because maybe you disagree with stagings too. Because now you don’t need one. Because now you’re here. Because—_

“Well,” says Alfred, and he pulls up his left sleeve. “Because aren’t you my soulmate?”

He holds out his arm for Ivan to see the handwriting as well as the words. Ivan doesn’t stiffen any further, but in the dim light of the servants’ corridor, Alfred watches his face slowly pale.

“Ivan?” he asks cautiously. “You alright?”

“I—” That seems to be a statement in and of itself. Ivan’s eyes flash as more and more revelations cross his mind, as he reaches conclusions that Alfred’s not sure he wants Ivan to reach. They’re at the wedding of their staged siblings, Alfred has just been forced to chase away his brother’s actual soulmate, and now his own soulmate—

No, he can’t—

“I must leave,” says Ivan. “And—and you must”—Ivan yanks Alfred’s sleeve down before Alfred can even move his arm—“and you must not speak to my parents, and you must not call me ‘Ivan’, and…I must leave,” he says again, fainter this time.

“Wait a second, you can’t just—”

“I _can,_ ” says Ivan, and for a second he looks so lost that Alfred’s arms ache to wrap around him again. He looks at Alfred as if he is simultaneously pulling Ivan out of the sea and pushing his head under the waves. He looks at Alfred like one would look at a walking sin.

He bursts out of the servants’ entrance and back into the ballroom.

Alfred stands there, his left arm dangling, covered. Like every other day of his life.

He swallows. First things first, he needs to go upstairs and change his shirt. Then he needs to not cry. Then he needs to return with a belated drink for his father. Then he needs to not cry. Then he needs to stand at attendance as his father and brother bid goodbye every wedding guest, including Ivan Braginski whose violet eyes won’t meet his, just like every other noble who comes into contact with the servant—the bastard—Alfred is. The fact that even a soulmate can’t overcome or even overlook.

Only after the guests are gone and the fire is low and the manor is silent but for the whispers of his brother and his sister-in-law, can Alfred let himself cry.


	2. Ludwig and Feliciano

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is meant to last a year and a half or so, and to omit all but the most important meetings. The other ones I didn't feel were eventful enough to include. I was anxious to get to the real character development in the last two chapters.

“Discuss the Act of Lords.”

Ivan’s face remains impassive, but internally he blanches. It seems his tutor has read his mind, though of course his history lessons would have to reach the Act eventually.

“The Act of Lords,” he begins, “was decreed by King Aldus after his ascent to the throne nearly one hundred years ago. After the betrayal of his daughter to a commoner soulmate, he declared that all houses of lordship who lack heirs will lose their standing for the throne, should anything befall the king.”

“Its purpose?” Ivan’s tutor prompts.

“To deter noble children from joining and adding to the growing population of commoners. To ensure the survival of the noble families, and their continued service to the peasantry and tithings to the king. And, ultimately, to promote the prosperity of the kingdom.”

“The main purpose, which the young master might have begun with,” scolds his tutor, crossing his arms. “Was the Act successful by this purpose?”

Asked by anyone else, Ivan wouldn’t know how to answer. Fortunately, he knows who pays his tutor. “Vastly so,” he says. “Noble families began to bear more children, though not so many as to diminish their inheritances. Those children intermarried, strengthening the relationships of the noble class. The merchant class benefited from taking and selling records of noble handwriting, to promote matchmaking. And stagings usurped the role of commoner soulmates.”

His tutor nods. “Well defended. That will be all.”

Ivan nods in return and leaves as quickly as he can. He needs something to drink.

As he walks through the halls and towards the kitchens, his heart races. Every footstep feels as if his father’s matches his, reminding him that the Braginski family is fourth in line for the throne, that Ivan is the only son, that he is counted on. That he is obligated.

In his childhood, his parents frowned at his blank arm. For a period, they inspected it every time he bid them goodnight. He learned to go to bed without announcement, and to cover the arm in question, and to imagine the wife his parents would inevitably choose for him.

Where his parents saw a blank arm as a mark of shame—as a sign that Ivan had no noble soulmate, no fates-distinguished tie to his true status—Ivan saw relief. He and Natalia, when they were younger and played together in the woods, compared their lack of words. Even at four years his junior, Natalia smiled at her blank arm.

“We have no soulmates, Brother,” she would often say. “We can choose as we please, or not choose at all. I could choose you, and you me.”

Ivan would smile back. No soulmate, no chance at disappointment. Better to imagine no soulmate at all, thought Ivan, than the wrong one. An illiterate soulmate could be nobody but a commoner, meant to ruin his birthright and doom his family.

Ivan reaches the kitchens too wrapped up in his thoughts to hear voices, until he swings open the door.

Sitting in his usual seat, a chair beside a small table with baking supplies, is the same smiling boy Ivan saw three weeks ago at his sister’s wedding.

Ivan’s heart clenches at the sight. The boy—Alfred. The boy with golden hair and eyes as blue as the sky and as bright as the sun that travels across it. The boy who, upon hearing Ivan’s voice, smiled at him as if Ivan were an answer he’d been waiting for his entire life.

Alfred, the soulmate Ivan forbade himself.

Oblivious of Ivan’s presence, Alfred is chattering to Toris.

“Mattie’s learned she doesn’t like to be touched often,” he informs the kitchen servant cheerily, “which is fine by him because he always feels so awkward trying. But she’s _fantastic_ with Dad, sometimes even better than me or the servants. She’ll read him things and feed him Braginski family soup—not that she makes it, of course, but she says she brought the recipe—and she brought it from you, right?”

“I only keep the cookbook, sir,” says Toris, smiling momentarily at Alfred before he looks back to the dough he’s kneading.

“Well, it’s amazing all the same. I bet you could even use it to get your soulmate to notice you, huh?”

Toris stiffens. “I, ah—”

“I mean, girls love food! And she’s probably no exception, from how often you say she’s in here.”

“She—she prefers sandwiches,” says Toris, and when he turns to address Alfred more directly, he sees Ivan standing at the doorway and staring at Alfred. Toris freezes as if caught by a hunter, which makes Alfred turn in curiosity. He stands abruptly, knocking the back of his chair into the wall.

“Iv—uh. Hey.” Alfred tries for a smile. “I was just looking for you.”

Through layers upon layers of forgetting how to breathe, Ivan raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, so I got lost. But at least I didn’t try the main entrance, right?”

Ivan has seen some of the merchants--a generally more expressive class than nobility—hit their foreheads with their hands. He never quite understood the purpose of causing oneself pain over another’s stupidity, until now.

“Come,” he says, and Alfred steps to him so suddenly that Ivan blanches. He turns to Toris, who looks very intent on winning a staring contest with his dough. “Toris. You have seen nothing.”

“Not a thing, Master Braginski,” says Toris, still not looking up.

Alfred likely expects that Ivan will lead him out the way Ivan came in, but Ivan can’t have that. Instead, he steps to the back door and silently guides Alfred outdoors. His father’s study overlooks the garden, but he and Natalia have long known which bushes obscure his view.

When they reach the outskirts of the garden, Ivan climbs and jumps over the slatted wooden fence bordering the woods. Alfred quickly follows him.

Ivan pins Alfred to the fence and presses his arm over Alfred’s chest, holding him in place. “Why are you here?” he demands.

Alfred stares at Ivan more levelly than Ivan expects. “Katyusha wanted a letter delivered to her mother, and I volunteered.”

Ivan pauses very briefly. Alfred has used Yekaterina’s nickname; only Ivan and Natalia use it. “Were you seen?”

“Only by the butler. He took the letter, and I walked around the manor looking for the servants’ entrance. Don’t worry,” he says with a lower, more disgusted voice. “I ducked under all the windows. Like you’d want.”

For a moment, Ivan is relieved. Eduard, the butler, is intimidated by Ivan and likely will remain as quiet as Toris. As Ivan looks over Alfred, however, he realizes that even if Eduard and Toris are frightened by him, Alfred isn’t. Or at least, he doesn’t appear to be.

Ivan takes a step away from Alfred. Alfred straightens himself from the fence and crosses his arms.

“I am sorry to have frightened you,” says Ivan.

“You didn’t,” says Alfred. He’s not smiling, but his scowl is fading to be replaced with a more neutral expression.

“I pressed you against a fence,” says Ivan. He’s never done that to anyone, even the staff. Most of them cower at his gaze alone—whether because of his status or because of something else, he’s not quite sure.

Alfred looks back at the fence and then back at Ivan. “Yup.”

Ivan blinks. “And you are not frightened?”

“Ivan, as much as I hate how you basically abandoned me, I don’t think you’re going to hurt me.” Alfred’s crossed arms tighten. “Plus, I’d fight you back.”

Ivan looks over Alfred’s admittedly ropey arms, but ultimately snorts. “I am rather larger than you, _da?_ ” he says, slipping into a verbal tic he had as a child. He tries for bravado, but he’s nervous, and the tic shows it. “You cannot fight me and win.”

“Maybe,” says Alfred, “but lemme tell you something—you’re bigger than me, and”—his eyes linger on Ivan’s arms—“maybe stronger too, but you probably do nothing but sit around all day. But me, I’m always moving. Helping in the stables, helping in the kitchens, wandering in the woods, meeting my friends in town, wherever I want to be.”

“As a bastard son of a lord does?” Ivan asks. The minute he speaks, he fears he’s hit a touchy subject. Alfred only shrugs.

“As an Alfred does,” he says, and Ivan swears the sun’s emergence from behind a cloud coincides with the small grin Alfred gives. “If I’m not allowed to be a commoner or a noble, why not be both? Or neither?” He looks over Ivan’s regalia. It’s less elaborate than at the wedding, but still finer than Alfred’s riding britches and plain shirt. “I’m probably having more fun than you.”

“…You are probably right.”

Alfred blinks. Despite himself, Ivan’s heart blinks back at the purity of Alfred’s confused, somewhat surprised expression. He’s unguarded. He has so little subtlety to his nature.

(Ivan’s body warms as he remembers Alfred’s hug.)

(Ivan can’t allow that.)

“But I am not made for fun,” says Ivan. “I am made for my family, and that is all.”

“But—look, I don’t even know what to address first!” says Alfred. His voice tilts up, and Ivan watches curiously. That only happens with Natalia, who most often follows outrage with violence. “First of all, you’re a person, not a family. And—c’mon, who doesn’t have _fun?”_

“There are things I enjoy,” says Ivan. “I simply do not devote all my time to them.”

“Maybe not _all_ your time,” says Alfred, “but—well, okay, give me one thing you do for fun.”

Something uneasy sets in Ivan’s gut. Alfred has stepped closer without his noticing. They’re standing just beyond his family’s gardens, talking. Their conversation is probably private, but Ivan is suddenly doused with the fear that, even if no one can overhear, he’s still in trouble.

“No,” he says.

“No like you won’t tell me, or no like—?”

“‘No’ like I know what you are trying to do, and it will not work on me.”

Alfred’s arms uncross, and his brow furrows.

Ivan can’t believe Alfred is playing dumb. “You are trying to talk to me,” he says. “I brought you here to tell you to leave. I have failed so far. Please allow me to correct myself.”

“What—no, no, hang on,” says Alfred, and he stomps forward until he’s almost on Ivan’s toes and juts a finger up at his face. “You are _not_ sending me away, and you’re not leaving, either.”

“I did before.”

“You fucking broke my heart, is what you did,” says Alfred. At this proximity, Ivan sees Alfred’s eyes turn slightly glassy. “You—you think that just because you’re a noble, you can walk away and reject me because I’m not good enough. But fuck, even if I’m half noble, so what if I wasn’t? I’m your soulmate, and—and—”

Ivan is expecting something entitled. Something like “and you owe me” or “and you belong to me.”

Instead Alfred says, “And I’m not giving you up without a fight.”

Ivan stands still, astonished and confused and _his eyes are so bright_ and—“Alfred. What are you going to fight?”

“The—I don’t know. The system? The nobles? I just—” Alfred cuts himself off and takes a step backward, crossing his arms more in security than in defiance. “I just don’t want to lose you so soon after I met you. And I don’t—I mean, you’ll like me too. Probably. I already know I like you, even if you don’t want to let me.”

Ivan looks at Alfred owlishly. “You—you cannot know anything about me.”

“Sure I do.” Alfred looks up at Ivan with a determined expression. “You’re sweet. Your first words were an apology—”

“It is simply etiquette—”

“And I can’t even remember the last time a _noble_ has even noticed I’m there, let alone that they’ve spilled anything on me. And,” says Alfred before Ivan can even think to interject, “you’re awkward. Okay, fine, so am I, so we can be awkward together. And Katyusha keeps talking about her sweet baby brother, and how you bring her flowers on her birthday and—”

“It is not fair to use my sister,” says Ivan, and he wishes he knew a way to stifle the blush on his cheeks.

“And it’s not fair that you’re not even curious about me,” says Alfred, “when I _know_ you like me. I think. I mean, you were scrambling for a napkin for a servant, what noble even does that? And sometimes you look at me like—that!”

Ivan blinks.

“Like I’m cute,” he says. And, with this victory, he beams in the same manner he did when Ivan first apologized for spilling his drink. Ivan’s heart inflates and threatens to stifle his lungs, for how he can no longer breathe quite as well. Alfred is golden and bright and like nothing Ivan has ever seen and—

Ivan realizes that he’s not suppressing his feelings as well as he thinks he is.

“I—” Ivan’s throat is dry. He tries again. “I believe that many of your ideas of me are at least exaggerated. But I confess, it was…pleasant to meet you.”

“You love me,” says Alfred, grinning. “I knew it.”

“You know no such thing,” says Ivan, “and even if it were so—which it is _not_ , because I do not believe in love at first sight—I cannot simply…”

Alfred sighs. “The family title and all that.”

“I intend to keep it.”

To Ivan’s surprise, Alfred nods. “Mattie did too. I kind of figured.”

Ivan and Alfred stand there, examining one another. Ivan is unsure of what to say.

He decides to start with the truth. “I have forbidden myself from thinking of you. Even before we met.”

“Were you scared?” asks Alfred.

“Perhaps. I told myself it was practical. If I did not have words, I could not have a soulmate. It seemed much better than the alternative. And, as I never encountered commoners beyond servants, how could I meet a commoner soulmate?”

“So, what? You wanted to stage?”

“Perhaps I did not want to, but I accepted it. You must understand, Alfred, that my parents were staged, and my grandparents before them. My situation is as it must be.”

“‘As it must be.’” Alfred looks like he wants desperately to fight these words, but nothing in his vocabulary will disparage them well enough. “Fine. In the long term, it’s as it must be. What do you think about the short term?”

“I do not understand.”

“Well, we’re brothers-in-law now, and the same age on top of that. I don’t think it’s going to be a big surprise to anyone we know if you and I start spending time together.”

“What?”

“It’s not like you can avoid me,” Alfred points out. “We’re going to run into each other regardless. But—I don’t know, don’t you want to see what it’s like? Having a soulmate?”

“…It surely cannot be healthy.”

“Ivan.” Alfred sighs. “Soulmates are the most natural thing I can think of. Or else why would this”—he unrolls his sleeve to reveal Ivan’s handwriting—“show up on my arm?”

“Natural is not the same as healthy. I am due to stage. My parents will not accept you, and if I am attached to you—”

“Would you stop—c’mon, Ivan, think short-term. Just you and me, right now. As much as I hate to say it, maybe you won’t actually like me. So then you can stage later when your parents find someone for you, and you’ll know your wife was better for you than—I dunno, someone the _fates_ assigned to you?” Alfred waves his arm, his expression firm and slightly exasperated.

Ivan examines Alfred’s stance. Alfred probably isn’t going to give up until he gets what he wants. Ivan fears, though, that Alfred will take a mile if given an inch.

If he didn’t find Alfred’s determination so invigorating, he would dislike it a lot more.

“We will set up conditions,” says Ivan.

“What—really?” Alfred’s eyes widen. “You’re saying yes?”

“I am agreeing with _conditions_.”

“Sure, lay ‘em on me.” Alfred’s entire posture loses, and his smile grows.

“You will not inform my parents,” says Ivan, the first thing to come to his mind.

“Yeah, I figured—”

“Or _anyone_ ,” says Ivan. “Neither of my sisters, nor the servants, nor anyone to whom you may speak.”

Alfred frowns. “Can I at least tell Mattie?”

Ivan pauses. “If you must,” he says, “but please stress to him the secrecy of this arrangement. Which leads me to my condition that we meet alone.”

“Also figured.”

“And all decisions to be made in the future will be held in discussion between us.”

“Do you really have to say that so formally?” asks Alfred. “You want to talk. Sure, I get it.”

“I am glad,” says Ivan, “as this is more for you than for me. As long as you maintain secrecy, there is probably little more about your life that I must know. But I…”

“Yeah.” Alfred nods. His lips quirk into another smile. “But that’s talk for the future.” He holds out his arms. “Can I have another hug now?”

Ivan has lost count of the number of times Alfred has surprised him in this conversation. His mind has stopped working. Eventually he nods, and Alfred is squeezing him before he knows it.

Ivan has no idea what’s possessing him. He’s not an especially intuitive person. He strongly hopes that whatever his intuition has done is for the best.

* * *

“Why do you call yourself a hero?” asks Ivan. He and Alfred are sitting on a sturdy log fallen over a creek near the Williams manor. Ivan has changed into his plainest clothing, dark britches and a pale shirt and his scarf. Compared to Alfred’s coarse-spun tunic, he still feels like he wore the wrong outfit for sitting on logs.

“Thinking about our words?” asks Alfred as he stares down to the rushing water.

“You must admit it is a strange thing to call oneself,” says Ivan, looking in the same direction as Alfred. “Is it something that commoners say?”

“No—well, not most commoners, anyway. My mom said it to me.”

“Ah. Any reason?”

“Well, apparently I saved her. She missed my dad a lot. They only got to see each other a few times before his family found out and made them separate, but nine months after that, she got me. She said she…” Alfred sighs. “Well, I didn’t understand it until later, but she said she couldn’t have ‘gone on’ without me.”

“Ah.” Ivan means to indicate that he’s listening, but the sound comes out as more of a question.

“So, as I got older, I did what I could to make her smile. Sometimes she’d sing as she did the laundry, so I’d sing with her. When I saw we didn’t have enough money for us both to eat, I’d go to the harbor and whittle down fish bones until they looked like pearls or little sculptures, and I’d sell them to girls. Elise’s parents got so angry at me for that,” said Alfred, laughing a little. “And whenever…well, I knew sometimes that my mother was crying when she thought I was asleep. So I’d get into her bed and pretend I had a nightmare. I think she knew I was faking it, though.”

“She probably thought it was touching.” If he were to be honest with himself, so did Ivan.

“She said as much. So that was me, her hero.”

Ivan wants to ask if Alfred’s father agreed. He doesn’t. The only reason he’s here today—their third meeting since their agreement, and the longest by far—is because he attended Lord Williams’s funeral yesterday. When Ivan shook hands with Matthew at the end of the ceremony, he found a piece of parchment pressed between his fingers with a transcribed request from Alfred to come by.

Matthew is now Lord Williams, only six months after becoming a husband. Ivan is still an eligible bachelor at age eighteen, though he stalls discussing weddings as much as possible. And Alfred…

Alfred is grieving.

“I can see why she loved him,” says Alfred. Ivan doesn’t need to clarify whom. “He was really good to me, even if he couldn’t give me more than spectacles and a room to myself. He gave me a brother and a home.”

Alfred takes off his spectacles and makes to wipe them on his shirt. Ivan taps the back of his hand.

“Allow me,” he says, gently plucking the spectacles from his hands. He rubs the lenses with the finer material of his own shirt and places them back in Alfred’s hand. Alfred wraps his fingers around the wire. Ivan wraps his hand around Alfred’s.

His heart beats in his throat. He knows Alfred likes hugs, but he isn’t sure how to give them, let alone how to do so while sitting over a creek. Even this feels like a poor compromise. His hand is likely too sweaty and too dirty from climbing.

When Alfred’s face falls against his shoulder, and when a part of Ivan’s shirt begins to grow wet, Ivan decides he’s at least working in the right direction.

When Ivan remains still, Alfred lifts up Ivan’s hand and wraps the connected arm between them and around Alfred’s waist. He presses himself against Ivan’s shoulder and sniffs.

“I know,” Alfred says, but his voice is broken. He waits a minute and tries again. “I know he meant the best for me. He just…he forgot her. And he didn’t even seem sorry. He didn’t even _learn_. His main priority was for me not to draw attention. So I couldn’t—I couldn’t give money to my mom’s friends in town, and I couldn’t be tutored with Mattie, and I couldn’t learn to read because I couldn’t mark a noble, and…did he think if he hid that he had a second son, he could forget he had a soulmate too?”

“He probably faced a lot of pressure to forget,” says Ivan.

Alfred stills. He lifts his head from Ivan’s shoulder and puts back on his glasses. He won’t look back at Ivan. “Yeah. Probably.”

Ivan senses he’s done something wrong. The more he thinks about it, the more he recognizes it.

“But,” he says, “you are right. Ignoring his history with your mother will not erase it. He should not be ashamed to have loved such a wonderful woman.”

Alfred smiles with such rawness that he looks closer to tears. “Yeah, she was. And—and here’s the thing I don’t get. How was forbidding me from literacy going to change anything? I was going to meet you anyway. All he was doing was making sure that even if I could be connected to you by your handwriting, you couldn’t be connected to me.”

Ivan frowns. “My blank arm does not bother me.”

“Really? If I were a noble, I probably would have gone crazy.”

“I admit that there is some stress. Mostly from parents, expecting a noble’s writing.”

“But don’t you want—I don’t know, a reminder or something?”

“That I have a soulmate? At the time, I did not want it. And now I do not need it.”

Alfred turns to look at Ivan. “Sometimes I think you’re still in denial that I exist.”

Ivan looks back at Alfred. “I…I am in denial. But not that you exist. Only that you are matched to me.”

“What? Somebody had to be.”

“It did not have to be a hero.”

“Oh, c’mon, that was just a nickname—”

“Yet in many ways it is true, is it not? I have seen you care for your father, and your love for your brother is unmistakable,” he says, thinking to the last time they were alone and Alfred told the story of Matthew and Lars. “You want to help, I know. And it is…interesting, to me.”

“Interesting.”

“I do not meet many other people so invested in others. Or in happiness, or love. If I need a reminder of you, I need only look at my sisters and remember my love for them. Or at the sky, for the sake of wonder. Or at sunflowers, for their cheer.”

Ivan doesn’t realize he’s smiling until he sees Alfred staring at him with part amusement and part…something Ivan can’t name.

“Sunflowers, huh?” says Alfred. “I’ll remember that.”

* * *

“Come, Master Braginski! Not even a small smile?”

“I am told it would not be becoming,” says Ivan.

His painter, Feliciano Vargas, frowns. Feliciano is the grandson of an earl, but due to his passion for the arts, his grandfather allows him the pastime of taking portraits for local nobles. Lord Braginski, Ivan’s father, has hired Feliciano to paint his son’s portrait to send to nobles for consideration in matchmaking.

Ivan, at age eighteen, is due to be matched with a noble woman. He need not marry as young as either of his sisters (though the family married Yekaterina away at age twenty), but because his eldest sister’s matchmaking process took so long, Lord Braginski sees fit to begin again as early as possible. He decides likewise for fourteen-year-old Natalia, who remains grudgingly silent at best and fails to cooperate at worst.

Alfred, too, is unhappy about the arrangement. He and Ivan have met only once since Lord Williams’s funeral, just after Ivan turned eighteen and his father decided to find him a bride. The only way he assuaged Alfred’s unhappiness was to insist to his father that the set-up—Ivan’s portrait, the search for nobles looking to stage, the search of public records for Ivan’s handwriting on another’s arm—take at least a year.

Ivan has barely had a combined four days with Alfred despite nine months of knowing he exists. He spent nearly all of those nine months scouring his schedule for free days and all the while pretending his soulmate wasn’t sitting in another manor and waiting for the smallest hint that Ivan hasn’t forgotten him. Hints that Ivan must check five times before he sends. Hints that often fall through. Hints that sometimes he grows wary of sending, for fear that maybe the next time he sees Alfred is the day his loyalty to his family will collapse

Ivan supposes that the portrait session will give him plenty of time to think.

“Just a small smile!” insists Feliciano as he adjusts the lighting. “Think of a pretty girl, or a place you enjoy!”

Against his will, sunflowers pop into Ivan’s head.

“I cannot sustain it,” says Ivan. “This may take weeks.” Months, he hopes, though it’s unrealistic.

“Even if I can see it at the beginning it will help me greatly,” says Feliciano, and he offers a smile of his own. Wider and more frantic than Alfred’s, Ivan can’t help but note. “It’s so difficult to draw a smile onto a face that’s already drawn, but the ghost of a smile at the beginning can linger through the entire painting!”

Ivan is tired from listening to him already. “What makes you smile?” he asks.

“Ah, that’s a lot of things!” says Feliciano. Ivan nearly breathes a sigh of relief when he sits down to his easel. “I love spaghetti and roses and sunrises and fine shoes, and my brother Lovino and my grandfather Romeo, and I also love history and geography and painting, of course, and also accounting—”

“Accounting?” asks Ivan. This seems like a mismatch to him.

“Your expression back to normal, please,” says Feliciano. Ivan unfurrows his brow and waits for Feliciano to elaborate. He doesn’t.

“Is your brother perhaps an accountant?” prompts Ivan.

“Hm? No, no, my brother—he cannot stand math. Even addition and subtraction he says give him a headache, which I think is a little silly, because he cannot use it very much. He spends his time napping and being courted by his fiancé, which to me sounds wonderful, even though I nap twice a day to begin with—”

“And your brother’s fiancé is an accountant?” Ivan is still trying to find the connection.

“Antonio? No, he is an heir! You have met him, I believe—the son of Lord Carriedo?”

“I have not heard of any stagings in the Carriedo family.”

“That,” says Feliciano with the smallest smile Ivan has yet seen on him, “is because it is not a staging. They are soulmates.”

Ivan blinks, which is fortunately allowed in his range of motion as he poses. Having dealt first with Yekaterina’s staging and then with meeting Alfred, Ivan has all but forgotten that soulmates can be of the same status.

“It was very romantic, how they met,” continues Feliciano. “Lovino and I were at a gala, and Lovino went to the garden because another noble, Count Adnan I believe, made him angry. He told me he heard the most beautiful music—well, he didn’t say it in words so much as in his voice—and he followed it through the garden until he was surrounded by roses. And there was Antonio, playing on his lute! He had forgotten to practice that day and meant to return to the gala when he was finished, but he saw Lovino and said, ‘Would you like a song?’ To which Lovino said—well, it was a little cruder, but he guessed at the instrument’s name and said that he didn’t like mandolins. And it’s so romantic since, because of his words, Antonio insisted on learning the lute as a child because he knew his soulmate didn’t like mandolins…”

Ivan senses the digression and decides not to push further. He has plenty of time to wonder what Feliciano, talkative carefree painter Feliciano, means by smiling about accounting.

* * *

“This is maybe the best idea you’ve ever had.”

Ivan is amused, but decides to take the compliment for what it is. He smiles slightly as he and Alfred venture further into the woods. He’s exhausted—he’s here because Lord Matthew Williams and Lady Yekaterina Williams have held an anniversary dinner for their two families, and Ivan has pleaded exhaustion to convince his father to let him stay overnight at the Williams manor. But it’s Alfred’s and Ivan’s one-year anniversary of meeting, and Ivan is trying to make up for only meeting Alfred five times since his sister’s wedding, and from the way Alfred happily leads the way even at this late hour, Ivan is willing to postpone sleep a while longer.

“So, are you going to tell me what’s in the box or not?” asks Alfred as they reach the clearing Ivan requested him to find.

Ivan sets the thin box on the ground and kneels before it to open it. Before he can begin to explain what’s inside, Alfred gasps and brings the lantern closer to examine it.

“A telescope?”

“That’s right,” says Ivan, and he blows out the lantern. He can assemble the telescope and its accompanying tripod in pure darkness, and they need the set-up time to adjust their eyes. He has a second stand-alone one in his chambers, a gift from his older sister many birthdays ago. This one, portable and meant for seafaring, he requested for his eighteenth. He means to introduce Alfred to the stars, something he figures a commoner has never seen. Now he’s reconsidering what Alfred knows.

“How’s its angular resolution?” asks Alfred. “I’ve been hearing rumors that Sirius is actually two stars instead of one, but my telescope’s resolution only shows the one star.”

“I have read similar things,” says Ivan, and though Alfred can’t see by the moonless night, Ivan’s eyebrows shoot up. “However, this telescope lacks the aperture necessary for such a thing. Nor has my telescope at home confirmed it, but I would need a larger one.”

“That’s fair,” says Alfred, though he looks put down. “I’m not sure there’s a big enough telescope to see the difference, anyway. I just thought maybe if there was one, you’d have it.”

“My father will not allow a larger telescope than the other one I have. He said this one would be the last I receive,” says Ivan, clicking the last piece into place and wielding a telescope a foot long. He sets it on the spindly wooden legs of the tripod. “Besides, perhaps we will only ever know of the second star by the way Sirius moves. Not all can be observed.”

“Not yet, anyway,” says Alfred. “But why’s your father so against telescopes? He should be happy you have a hobby.”

“While he agrees that tracking the motions of the stars will teach me studiousness and care in cataloguing, he hopes that my focus will not remain away from home. Furthermore, I may only observe in the early evening, so as not to interfere with my studies the next day.”

Alfred’s tone turns coy. “And you haven’t _broken_ this rule, have you?”

“…Perhaps once or twice.”

“Ivan!” says Alfred, and his faux-scandalized exclamation echoes around the treats. “Oh no! You’ve disobeyed your father!”

Ivan isn’t quite so amused, and he falls silent. Alfred catches on after a moment. “Sorry,” he says. “Didn’t mean to pry.” Ivan’s assumes he’s gesturing to the telescope. “Mind if I?”

Ivan hands it over, but instead of letting it go, he points the lens towards the celestial equator to the south. “You may search for Sirius, if you like.”

Alfred balances the telescope, one hand near the eyepiece and one supporting the lens, with the grace of an experienced astronomer. After a moment, he curses. “My spectacles,” he says. “They’re pressing against the eyepiece.”

“How is your vision without them?”

“Not good enough,” says Alfred, and he chuckles. “Don’t worry, I just—forgot.”

“You have done this many times before, I take it.”

“Not recently, but yeah. Mattie and I would come out here to stargaze, when we were kids. I told him I liked looking at the stars, and he told me I’d never get a better view than from out here.”

Ivan looks at the sky, at the numerous stars visible and the faint galaxy spanning above them. “He was right.”

Alfred takes the telescope away from his eye. “Took me ages to get my hands on a decent telescope, though. Mattie and I had to beg Dad for one. He had the same problems as your dad, but I was well-behaved for years because of it.”

“Years?”

“Sure—it takes at least a year to notice the patterns in the stars, right?” Alfred sounds like he’s smiling.

“So you followed the motions, then.”

“Yeah. It was—really nice, you know?” Alfred begins shifting the telescope in his hands. “I could still use papers and pens for something, making maps of the sky. I couldn’t label it or anything, but I could connect the constellations and keep track of them that way. Of course, Mattie would tell me in the morning that I was making up half the constellations I marked.”

Despite himself, Ivan laughs.

“What? I’m serious!”

“I do not doubt it,” says Ivan, still smiling. “I suppose I only wonder what constellations you saw.”

“Like, uh…” Ivan scans the sky with Alfred, looking closer to the Milky Way which is growing clearer now that their eyes are adjusting after losing the lantern’s light. “There!” Alfred points to a cluster of stars just east of it, a diamond with two stars trailing after it. “That’s a mouse.”

Ivan squints. “Beside Pegasus?”

“You mean the giant square? I call it the Prison.”

“Ah. Does this mouse have a story?”

“Yeah, he just escaped prison, and he’s about to cross the river.”

“The Milky Way.”

“Yup. He has to use those stepping stones, though,” Alfred says, jutting his arm into the sky to point out various stars. “And once he gets to the other side he’ll be with his soulmate.” He circles his hand in a place somewhere more northern. Ivan can’t see which stars he means.

“Is his soulmate another mouse?”

“Nope, his soulmate’s a bear.”

“A bear. Like the Big Dipper?”

“He wishes. His father is the Big Dipper, but the bear decided that he was just going to be a bear. Cygnus the swan”—Alfred points out an actual constellation spanning the band of the Milky Way—“told him his soulmate was looking for him, so the bear decided to leave the north where the other big constellations circled Polaris. It’s so cool—he fought the turning of the sky, just to get to the Milky Way.”

“…Alfred, do you see yourself as a bear?”

Alfred turns to face Ivan. “Huh? No, uh. I liked the mouse.”

Ivan blinks. “Really?”

“I mean, mice aren’t my favorite animals. I like eagles a lot more, but I just saw this little guy one night next to this huge constellation, and I was like, ‘you get me, huh?’” Alfred turns back to examine the tiny constellation. “I first saw him around my birthday, because he’s a summer constellation. And he looked so small, and I knew all these kings and queens and hunters and monsters were also in the sky, but there was just this tiny little mouse in the middle of it all.”

“So…then, the bear?”

“Well, I knew I had a soulmate. I thought I’d give him one too.”

“A bear, though.”

“Yeah?” asks Alfred. “What’s wrong with bears?”

“A bear does not seem a likely companion to a mouse,” says Ivan quietly.

“He’s a gentle bear. Plus, it can’t be easy for him to be in the north with all the other big constellations. He probably wanted his soulmate too.”

Ivan thinks pessimistically. He thinks of how the Little Dipper—which Alfred surely doesn’t mean, but it’s all Ivan can think of—is so far in the north that one of its stars is the North Star. He thinks of how Alfred’s mouse and imaginary bear are separated by “the river”, the Milky Way. He wonders why the mouse has been in prison, of all places, and whether either it or the bear can swim.

He’s unwilling to break Alfred’s fantasy, though.

“It is a lovely story,” he says. “I also meant to show you another lovely thing.”

“Huh?” Alfred realizes he’s still holding a telescope. “Oh, yeah. Let’s do it!”

Ivan directs Alfred to Jupiter. His telescope may not be able to separate twin stars, but it can detect distant moons easily enough. Luckily enough, three of the four largest Jovian moons are visible tonight.

Alfred makes a sharp squeak of surprise, and Ivan smiles and knows that he’s found them.

* * *

“Who handles the books in your family?” It’s the most subtle question Ivan can think of, and possibly the least subtle thing he could say.

Feliciano pauses between brushstrokes. “At the moment, nobody,” he says. “We hire a man once a year.”

“Is he a good accountant?” asks Ivan.

“Do you mean to ask for a recommendation?” asks Feliciano. “I can recommend the agency who sends him—they have very talented people, and discreet too.”

“I do not, in fact,” says Ivan. “I wish to hear more about him.”

Feliciano sighs and sets his palette on the table beside him. As he cleans his brush, he looks Ivan in the eye. “Master Braginski, I misspoke on our first day. Accounting does not make me smile, although it is very respectable. I would be grateful for you to stop asking.”

 _Aha_ , Ivan thinks. “Let us trade a secret for a secret, then.”

“Secret?” Feliciano’s voice tilts upwards. “Secret—there is no secret here! Only a slip of tongue, which I promise I do very often, so there is no need for you to assume any secrets—”

“I have met my soulmate,” says Ivan.

Feliciano pauses. He looks at Ivan appraisingly, with the light of gossip in his eyes. “Oh?”

“His name is Alfred. He is…within the noble circle, although far enough outside it that I cannot make his existence known to my father.”

“Hence your staging portrait?” asks Feliciano. “But—surely your father would insist I write your words on the back of this portrait, if you had them!”

“Yet I have no words,” says Ivan. He’s tempted to roll up his sleeve, but he fears straying from his position too much and ruining the pose Feliciano has perfected for him.

“Yet he is within the noble circle?” Feliciano’s eyes grow wider as the mystery intrigues him further. “Please, elaborate!” He settles back to paint, smiling.

“Ah,” says Ivan. “This is information I cannot give you.”

“Oh, come, you’ve already shared this much, and I am very good at secret-keeping!”

“I will not share anything that you do not likewise share.”

Feliciano pauses. “Ah.” He stares at the portrait, and speaks to it as he addresses Ivan. “It is unsafe.”

“As it is for me,” says Ivan. “I have trusted you with the bare knowledge of my situation. I do not mean to be rude, but…”

He’s curious. He’s rudely curious, and he’s also hoping to learn. He meets nobles of his age only at galas, where listening ears prohibit discussion of true soulmates. Ivan is grappling with the new double life he leads, and he suspects one of Feliciano. He wants to learn.

And, if he’s being honest, he wants help. He wants advice. He wants to discuss the way Alfred’s smile sets him at ease, and the way his illiteracy sets him on edge. He wants to talk about what other nobles have done, whether they’ve shunned their soulmates or hidden them or tried to incorporate them into new lives. And who better to know about any of it than Feliciano, the painter who drifts among everyone of their class and encounters nearly everyone with this situation?

“…This must remain between us,” says Feliciano.

“There is no question of that.”

“My soulmate is our family’s accountant.”

“Ah.”

“Is it so obvious?” says Feliciano pleadingly.

“Not at first. But…among your many other interests, accounting does not seem to fit.”

“I agreed at first,” says Feliciano. “But I saw him in the corridor one day, when I was fifteen. Oh, he was—he was tall, and broad, and if I were born a sculptor I would have locked him in my chambers and set to work immediately to chisel marble in the exact shape of his face. But I caught only a glimpse of him, and I had to follow him halfway through the manor until we reached my grandfather’s study. I lingered outside the hallway until he and my grandfather were finished discussing, and the minute he left, I…well, I think I startled him,” Feliciano says with a giggle. Ivan notices that as he talks, his smile grows wider and his cheeks rosier.

“I asked him if he would return to my chambers with me, and he sputtered so badly that I am surprised that I have actual words on my arm.” Feliciano waves his right arm above the easel as his left one paints. “He apologized and said he must really return to work, which—were my words! My grandfather knew they existed ever since they appeared, and he thought it was far too rude, but I couldn’t bear to tell him…well, that they had been spoken. Instead I insisted the man take a cup of tea in the parlor, at least, so I could learn more about him.”

“And he accepted?”

“Oh, no, I had to chase him down the hallway with a servant and a tray of tea. I sat outside his door and sipped tea until he opened the door and asked me to come into the study. I think he only wanted to avoid questions from the staff, or from my grandfather, because once I was seated he went straight to work again. But he was blushing, so that was a good sign.” By this point, Feliciano is beaming. “I asked him his name and told him mine, and…we met!”

Ivan doesn’t understand why Feliciano held this story with such secrecy. It frankly sounds like something Alfred would do. Like what Alfred did. “And since then, he has been your family accountant?”

“Yes. I see him every year.”

“Only once a year?”

“For two weeks, yes, and for the past three years. And if I am to attend a ball or a gala, the time diminishes by the day.” Feliciano’s smile is fading. “I have no reason to see him on other occasions. He is of commoner birth—he cannot attend the same events as me. Nor has he a reason to attend to our books more frequently, because Grandfather takes care of cataloguing and only needs him to verify and organize.”

“I am sorry to hear such a thing,” says Ivan. He really is. He thinks back to the times he has seen Alfred, and realizes that every one of them is because his sister is married to Alfred’s brother.

He feels a pang of guilt. His sister staged, gave up her own soulmate, and as a result Ivan found his own. It’s unfair to the same sister who smiles and thanks every servant she sees, who carries out their family’s expectations with poise, who visited Ivan’s chambers when she lived at the Braginski manor and asked to see his observation sheets from the previous night. Who knitted him the scarf he wears on days he feels this world is too much for him.

“His name is Ludwig,” says Feliciano, interrupting Ivan’s thoughts. “You told me your soulmate’s name, so I will tell you his.”

“Thank you,” says Ivan. “He must be a good man, for you to miss him as much as you do.”

“He is,” says Feliciano. “He lives with his grandfather too, and takes good care of him. While his older brother spent money trying to learn to read only to find his soulmate, he took his grandfather’s spending money and took lessons on accounting. He reads and writes,” Feliciano adds, “but only for the purpose of his job. I lend him a book every year for him to read, so he knows that reading can be for joy as well as duty.”

“Do you…” Ivan starts, and then rephrases. “Would you ever consider marrying him?”

“Oh, no. I cannot.”

“But your brother is marrying a noble, is he not? He can carry on the Vargas title.”

“Lovino is marrying into the Carriedo family. And the only reason such a thing is permissible is because Antonio has a nephew, and because our family ranks well enough that Lovino is marrying within our class. That leaves only me to carry on the title. It is not so bad,” Feliciano says quietly, dipping his brush into a new paint color. “I find both men and women to be very beautiful. And there is more than one kind of love.”

“But only one soulmate.”

“And he will still be my only soulmate if I have a wife, yes?” says Feliciano. “If I am lucky, I will be fond of her. It is not…she will not be Ludwig. But she will be enough, until I can hire Ludwig myself.”

Ivan’s heart pangs. He tries to imagine someone besides Alfred smiling at him. He appreciates any other smile in an aesthetic way, but only Alfred’s smiles pierce through his skin. Though he’s still not sure he believes in love at first sight, he must admit that knowing Alfred is his soulmate saves a few steps in the process of falling in love.

Trying to replicate that feeling with another person feels wrong. It takes more time to appreciate people who aren’t Alfred. He may even fail to appreciate his staged spouse at all. And he feels exhausted as he thinks of trying to love someone he’s been told to love.

“We are lucky to have soulmates,” says Feliciano absently as he paints, “and luckier still if we can meet them. I think, though, that luck ends after a point.”

* * *

“Wait, what was that name again?”

“Ludwig.”

Alfred and Ivan, bundled in winter clothes, are sitting on the same fence where Ivan first took Alfred to ask why he’d invaded the Braginski manor. This is their seventh meeting, and they’re halfway to nineteen years old, and they’re running out of creative places to be alone.

Alfred’s swinging leg stops as Ivan recounts Feliciano’s story. “And he’s an accountant,” Alfred clarifies.

“Yes, from an agency in town.”

“Huh. Then I think I know him!”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, he’s teaching me accounting.”

Ivan blanches. “What?”

“He’s my accounting tutor. Mattie brings him over every week or so, and he needs the work during the summer, so he teaches me stuff so I can manage the Williams books.”

“Stuff like…reading?”

Alfred looks away from Ivan’s gaze. “Yeah, a little.”

“Alfred, when were you going to tell me? I asked that we talk about this!”

“You said the rule was more for me than for you! Besides, I was…gonna tell you eventually.”

“When, then—when words appeared on my arm?”

“So I wanted to surprise you!” Alfred steps down from the fence and turns to Ivan. “Look, it’s not like it’s some big surprise that I’m your soulmate. You’d just have—proof, is all.

“I have told you I do not _need_ proof. And furthermore, I do not want it.” Ivan stands upright. “Alfred, have you considered that I am in the middle of courtship? Feliciano is halfway done with my portrait, and once he makes copies and sends them out, I will begin staging. I would rather—I do not want someone to say your words. And what is more”—he makes to lift his left sleeve but oh, yes, he doesn’t have the words written there—“what you first said was _very_ distinctive.”

“What? Weird, maybe, but not _distinctive_ —”

“And the commoners you lived with in town will not know someone called a hero? Word travels faster than you think, especially once it reaches the nobility. You will be found and—”

“And what? Then what, Ivan?” Alfred folds his arms. “You’ll have a wife soon. Everyone will know she’s not your soulmate. Don’t you think they’d already have guessed, from the way no one knows what Ivan Braginski’s words are? Because you don’t _have_ them. At least this way you’ll have some—and yeah, they’re shitty words, and I’m sorry—but you’ll just find a way to tie them to your wife, and everything will be okay.”

“Everything will not _be okay_ ,” says Ivan, and he folds his arms across his chest. “With a blank arm, I can simply marry. With words, I must stage. I do not want your words to disappear, Alfred—I—it distresses me to think that our connection could be stolen.”

“And I don’t want that either,” says Alfred, “but…look, you want another reason?”

“I would appreciate one.”

“I’m so _fucking_ bored. You’ve got all this stuff to do, but I’m sitting in the Williams manor the same as I have since I was ten. Even since then I wanted to change things and help people, and you know what? Accounting is a way to do it. Mattie wants to set up charities with the family fortune, and he says I can be in charge of them, and I’m in. Because otherwise, what do I have? A soulmate I barely see? A brother I see even less? I see your _sister_ more than either of you.

“And look, Ivan, I know”—Alfred’s eyes start to turn glassy—“I know you’re not sold on me. You’re still…still talking about stagings, and I just—I thought you’d want to, I don’t know. Run away. Or, or fight. I thought you’d fight _with me_ , but instead we meet up and you smile at me and then you go back to your life and forget all about me.”

“I…” Ivan stands still. He lifts his arms helplessly. “I do not forget you.”

“Then why are you so upset about having a reminder of me? It’s not like I’m going to crash one of your balls and pin myself to your side, but I just—I’m not allowed to draw attention to you, just like I couldn’t draw attention to my father. I’m so sick of being this _shame_ to everyone, and I just want to be your soulmate! And I want to be able to write, finally, so then even if I can’t fix this useless system where we hide and lie about who we love, at least I can—I can save a kid from growing up to be me one day!”

“…Alfred. You should be proud to have someone grow up to be you.”

“Not from the way I have to hide everything.”

“You…” Ivan sighs. He envelopes Alfred in a hug, pressing his head to his chest. “You are a good person. You are kind, and thoughtful, and you make happy everyone who meets you. Yours is exactly the goodness I expect from one who was born of a soulmate pair.”

“Exactly the—” Alfred mutters. “Huh?”

Ivan frowns. Surely Alfred knows. “The children of soulmates are better. Than the children of those who were matched.”

“Better how?”

“More compassionate. More loving. Happier.”

“Ivan, I…” Alfred pulls away. “You honestly think that?”

“It is common knowledge.”

“To your class, maybe.” Alfred exhales. “I thought it was only Mattie who thought that.”

“But it is true all the same.”

“Is this why you’re having such a hard time being my soulmate?” asks Alfred, looking up into Ivan’s eyes. “You think you don’t…what, deserve me?”

“That is irrelevant.”

“No, it fucking isn’t. Ivan, was I doing something wrong?”

Ivan pauses. Looks down at their bodies pressed against each other. “I admit,” he says, “that sometimes our physical contact is somewhat of a shock.”

Alfred jumps away from Ivan like he’s been electrocuted. “Dude, you—you gotta tell me these things. What else?”

“Nothing, I swear.”

“No, there’s gotta be more, there has to be something I can fix.”

Ivan sighs. Runs a hand through his hair. “Alfred, there is very little you can do to fix the true problem.”

“What’s the true problem?” Alfred looks half afraid to hear the answer, and half already aware of what it is.

“I will not be giving up my family’s title. No matter how much I love you, that cannot change.

“Well…what does that leave for me?” asks Alfred, squinting. “You don’t want me to learn to write. You obviously can’t marry me. Am I—am I just going to be waiting for you all the time?”

“I do not wish that for you, but—”

“But you’re going to insist, aren’t you.” Alfred crosses his arms. “Because obviously our relationship is all about you.”

“Alfred, you knew from the start that I was hesitant.”

“But I thought maybe you’d change your mind!”

Ivan frowns. “That seems an unfair thing to expect.”

“It’s what happens in all the stories. Soulmates are supposed to put each other above everyone else.”

“You and I have been hearing different stories.”

“And I’m trying to tell you new ones. Ones where people aren’t ashamed of the soulmates they have.” Alfred looks ready to cry. Ivan now really does want to hug him, but the one time he’s comfortable with one is the time that Alfred likely won’t accept it.

“You know what? Fine,” says Alfred. “Keep courting. Stage. Whatever, I don’t care. But I’m done sitting around and waiting. I’m going to keep learning to read, and if you don’t like your new words, you can cover them up for all I care.”

“Alfred, please.”

“Please what?”

Alfred’s arms are crossed against his chest. His feet are pointed back the way they came, past the kitchen and to the stables where Alfred has hitched his horse. He’s looking at Ivan with a challenge, one he knows Ivan won’t win.

Ivan doesn’t know what to say to keep Alfred here.

“You’d better have more to say the next time we see each other,” says Alfred. He leaves Ivan standing with his back to the fence, staring out into the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sirius was established as a binary star in 1844 when a German scientist named Friedrich Bessel noticed changes in the motion of Sirius relative to other stars, indicating an invisible gravitational force nearby whose mass suggested it was another star. Sirius’s twin, Sirius B, wasn’t seen until 1862 by American astronomer Alvan Graham Clark. He used an 18.5-inch refracting (lens-based) telescope, which was considerably larger than Alfred’s and Ivan’s (http://www.timberwolfbay.com/products/19th-century-brass-telescope). Alfred would have seen something like this: http://www.skyandtelescope.com/wp-content/uploads/Jupiter-Moons-ST-final.jpg. (And by the way, I totally saw the mouse constellation on an astronomy field trip.)
> 
> I’ve been very vague about where this universe takes place -I imagine it as in northern Europe -but at least there’s a hint about the era.
> 
> (Can you tell I have a part-time job teaching astronomy?)
> 
> I'm not sure what my weekend looks like, but I hope to have the next chapter ready to post in a few days.


	3. Toris and Natalia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings and apologies for the delay. I thought I could post before my conference in Boston - turns out I could not.

Alfred has never been so lost. Both literally and emotionally, he no longer knows what he’s doing.

He lifts his jacket over his head to block the raindrops, and avoids the ever-growing puddles. He’s been trying to visit his mother’s friends downtown, but most are at work, and he doesn’t recognize half of the children who come to the door in their stead. He’s forgotten most people work. He forgets a lot of things these days.

An umbrella, for example.

Alfred sees a light further down the main cobblestone street. Sticking out from the building is the wooden emblem of a bird taking flight.

Alfred half-runs to the building, but before ducking inside from the rain, he stops outside the door to make out the letters carved underneath the bird.

S-T-A-R-L-I-N-G B-A-K-E-R-Y

He’s going to learn to read if it kills him.

He opens the door, which rings a bell. An effeminate-looking blond young man looks up and smiles at him.

“Taking shelter from the rain, huh?”

“You bet. I can’t believe it came so suddenly,” says Alfred, taking off his drenched coat and shaking it in the entryway.

“It’s totally fine by me if you stay a bit,” the man says. “We’ll have chocolate chip cookies ready in a few minutes if you’re willing to wait.”

Alfred realizes that in his determination to leave the Williams manor that morning, he has forgotten to eat breakfast. His stomach clenches as he examines the covered counter full of pastries and breads.

“Nah, I should probably eat an actual meal,” says Alfred. “Can I have some bread?”

“No problem,” says the blond man. He scans the counter behind him and picks up a dark rye bread. Alfred pays and tears the bread in half, and offers some to the man who served him.

“Do you know how many pastries I sneak when nobody’s here?” says the man with a grin. “But, like, if you insist.” He takes the bread and tears off a small piece, leaning against the glass separating the pastries from the customers. “I’m Feliks.”

“Alfred. And shouldn’t you get to eat your own food, anyway?” says Alfred. His mouth is full and his mood is lightening as he eats and chats. “You bake it, after all.”

“No, I actually don’t,” says Feliks. “I’m the sales person. I bought the shop, though, and finished all the paperwork, so my partner…” Feliks frowns slightly. “Well, he does what he can.”

Alfred means to ask what Feliks means by that, when a very familiar brunet steps out from a stockroom and comes behind the counter. He ignores both Alfred and Feliks to check the oven.

“Toris?” Alfred asks.

Toris jumps as if he burnt himself on the oven’s handle. He turns to the counter and belatedly offers a small smile. “Alfred. This is a surprise. How are you?”

“You know each other?” asks Feliks. He reexamines Alfred, newly suspicious for a reason Alfred can’t determine.

“Sure,” says Alfred. “He was working in the kitchens at the Braginski manor, and I snuck in.” He examines Toris. When they met a year and a half ago, when Alfred first looked for Ivan, Toris was pale and thin. Now his skin is half a shade tanner, but the circles under his eyes stand out most. His shoulders seem like they haven’t straightened in weeks.

“You alright, Toris?” asks Alfred. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“And like, what’s wrong with him being here?” says Feliks so sharply that Alfred turns to look at him quizzically.

“It’s fine, Feliks,” says Toris with a sigh. He pulls out the tray of cookies and sets it on the counter beside the oven, and then turns to look at Alfred. His hands prop him up against the counter between them. “I left the Braginski manor,” he says.

“What?” Alfred blanches. Ivan hasn’t told him of anything going on among the servants. Not that Ivan would know, he suspects. “What happened?”

“My former coworker, Elizabeta, was found having words on her arm,” says Toris. He won’t look at Alfred or Feliks. “She was let go.”

“And you had to leave,” says Alfred. He sucks in a breath. In the ten minutes he spoke with Toris before Ivan found him, Alfred managed to deduce that Toris had a soulmate present in the Braginski household. He could only imagine the scandal if Toris and his soulmate—a maid, he presumed—were caught together. “And…your soulmate? What did she do?”

“That’s none of your business,” says Feliks. He’s looking at Toris now, as if Toris is going to collapse to the floor at any moment.

“Hey, look, I didn’t mean anything by it—”

“She told me to leave,” Toris says. “And to never come back.”

Toris says it as he’s said everything else in this conversation—plainly, factually, and with a low voice that suggests nothing more can hurt him now.

“Toris, I—I’m so sorry,” says Alfred. “I can’t even imagine why she would—”

“She didn’t want to be my soulmate,” says Toris. “It’s as simple as that. There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Toris’s hands are beginning to tremble, but his face remains impassive. He steps away from the counter and past Feliks, to where they keep the pastries by the window of the shop. He picks up a square paper container holding what appears to be layers of golden wafers. “You should try this,” says Toris. “It’s _skruzdėlynas_ —it’s made of pastries and honey and poppy seeds. The Braginskis have it for dessert every week.”

“…Why do you keep making it, then?” asks Alfred. “If it reminds you of them.”

One half of Toris’s lips quirks up. “I may not know why you were so intent on seeing Master Braginski. But I can guess.” He sets it on the glass case over the counter. “It was good to see you, Alfred. I hope you have better luck than I did.”

Toris escapes to the stockroom before Alfred can say anything.

Feliks turns and frowns at Alfred. “I can’t exactly blame you for reminding him,” he says sourly. “You knew him already and all that. But did you really have to ask?”

Feliks then follows Toris into the stockroom, leaving the door partially opened in his hurry. Alfred stands stock-still, staring at Toris’s offering. He can’t help but hear the muffled conversation.

“Toris, you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“How’s your heart? It’s not—doing that weird beating thing again?”

“I said I’m fine.”

“Do you want to sit down? I can totally go get you some water—”

“Feliks, stop asking,” says Toris. A pause. Some rustling and a creak, as if he’s sitting on a crate instead of a proper chair. “Please, please stop asking.”

Alfred has heard more than he thinks he should have. He takes the paper container in one hand and leaves the bakery, choosing to cover the pastry but not his head as he walks through the lessening rain and back to his horse.

Once home he takes the pastry to Yekaterina, who recognizes it immediately.

“Oh, we would eat this every Friday!” says Yekaterina. She has two forks brought to the library and, uncharacteristically, starts eating even before Alfred does. “Where did you find it?”

“A bakery in town,” says Alfred. “It’s new. And I, uh…met an old friend there.”

“Oh?” says Yekaterina. She takes another dainty bite of the dessert and savors it quietly, waiting for Alfred to continue.

“He was a servant at your home, actually. And he worked there for years, but he had to leave because of—well, some scandal or another.” Alfred doesn’t want to discuss Lord Braginski’s staff policies right now; that’s not the point he’s trying to make. “But the thing that bothers me most is that his soulmate didn’t _want_ him,” says Alfred. “I have no idea why. It’s not like he and I were best friends or anything, but you could tell instantly that he was a great guy. But his soulmate told him to leave her alone. And he looks crushed.”

Yekaterina frowns. “This does sound distressing. Did he say why?”

“I don’t think even he knew,” says Alfred. “He just—accepted it.”

“He must be a very strong man, to have done so.”

“Strong?” says Alfred. “Strong—Katyusha, _how?_ Strong people fight, don’t they?”

“A brave person fights, maybe,” says Yekaterina. “But strong people are not always brave, and brave people are not always strong. Perhaps your friend knows something about his soulmate’s wishes. He could be choosing to obey them.”

“So strength is, what—lying down? Giving up?”

“Giving up staying with his soulmate? Perhaps. But people do not give up their soulmates lightly. It takes a very strong will to contradict what the fates have assigned us.”

Alfred looks over Yekaterina, who is taking another bite of the honey pastry. He’s beginning to wonder how much of her definition is self-serving. “So tell me about staging,” he says. “I guess you’re strong for doing it?”

Yekaterina trains her eyes on the pastry. “I would not say that I am a strong person, but I am certainly not brave. I had a servant friend at the manor who would often serve me tea in the evenings. She received her words just before Matthew’s and my staging. She begged me to reconsider, to live in the city with her and speak to as many men as possible. She thought any soulmate of hers would be a friend of my own soulmate.” Yekaterina glances at her arm. To Alfred’s knowledge, she’s still wordless. “But I do not have the same nerve as she does.”

“You didn’t want to leave the Braginski manor?”

“I did not want to leave everything I had known. I did not know how to defy what my mother taught me about my duties, and what my father reminded me about our status. Besides, my intended seemed very kind. I knew he would be good to me,” says Yekaterina with a small smile.

“But how much of that comes from the staging, and how much because you liked him?” asks Alfred.

“I cannot say. But I knew that, at least with Matthew, I could find understanding.” Yekaterina looks at Alfred. “I know he has met his soulmate. I knew the first time our eyes met. But I knew also that he was skeptical, and even more, disappointed. I did not want disappointment for myself. So I took the…”

“The easiest path.”

“The best path. For me. You do not understand, Alfred, how little I know about the world beyond the Braginski and Williams manors. You talk of fighting because you know where to go if you lose. I have no such luxury.”

“But—what if you’d met your soulmate before? What if you liked him?”

“I can like many people,” says Yekaterina. She takes a sip of tea. “I like your brother. I like you. I would like my soulmate, yes, but Matthew I knew I could build a life with. As I listened to my servant friend, and as I learned about my intended, I decided that I would sooner take a lifetime of liking over a moment of love.”

“But then…why do we have soulmates at all?” Alfred rubs his left wrist.

“I could not say,” says Yekaterina. “I have never met mine."

Alfred nods and pretends he understands.

* * *

For months, Alfred doesn’t contact Ivan. He supposes the matchmaking process is duly marching forward, that Ivan is coming closer to his staging. He thinks bitterly to himself that he would hate to interfere.

He expects a visit, or at least an angry message, when Alfred finally writes his first sentence. He can form the letters and he has a basic idea of spelling, and Ludwig tells him that not only does he have all the literacy skills necessary for being an accountant, but this level is sufficient for words to form on a soulmate’s arm.

Alfred expects Ivan to be furious. He expects to hear about how he’s ruined Ivan’s matchmaking, that now an intended will be able to say Ivan’s words, that they’ll stage and Ivan will speak as flippantly of his own soulmate as Yekaterina does of the one she never met. Alfred wonders whether he’ll feel the same burn in his own words as Lars described, when Ivan finally stages. Alfred wonders if having words will make Ivan reconsider his choice to give up the match prescribed by fate for the one prescribed by his class.

Alfred doesn’t like himself anymore. He’s becoming masochistic. Matthew can’t notice, seeing Alfred as rarely as he does, but Yekaterina takes to speaking to him more and more to keep him from wandering into the woods alone and coming back bruised and scratched. (Alfred no longer pays attention to where he’s stepping.) Ludwig begins bringing in more practical lessons to their accounting lessons, showing Alfred the various charities already begun and how to catalogue their expenses. (Alfred no longer remembers why he wanted to learn accounting.)

With every day Ivan doesn’t contact him, Alfred’s feet shuffle a little more. Not even his own soulmate sees that having a soulmate should _mean_ something. That the fact that he and Alfred are paired should be celebrated. That they should be in love. And yes, Alfred still considers Ivan handsome, still wants to feel his form beside him, still wonders what Ivan would think about this or that thing. But the more he replays their few meetings in his head (they have seven times alone together—seven for a year and a half), the more he sees just how often he steers the conversation towards soulmates. How often Ivan grows uncomfortable because Alfred couldn’t read or because all Ivan can talk about in depth is nobility.

How did Alfred convince himself that this was a functional relationship?

One day, a newcomer arrives at the Braginski manor. Alfred, chafing at conversing only with Yekaterina and Ludwig, is one of the first to the foyer to see who it is.

A young woman in a fine dress, probably no older than sixteen, stands with her arms folded as servants bring in her trunks. She scours the entry with eyes the same color as Ivan’s.

“Hi there!” says Alfred. Let it never be said he can’t be hospitable. “Looking for someone?”

“My sister,” says the young woman.

“Mistress Yekaterina has been summoned,” affirms one of the servants as he drags in a trunk.

“Oh—you’re Natalia, aren’t you?” says Alfred. Ivan’s sister. He likes her already. Whereas Ivan and Yekaterina both distance themselves from emotional matters and approach them with cold logic, Natalia seems to insult the air she breathes. She’s vivacious.

“To you I am Mistress Braginski,” she snaps.

And vicious, too.

“I’m Alfred.” He offers a quick bow. “I was at your sister’s staging, but I was only pretending to be a servant. I’m actually your brother-in-law.”

Natalia outright sneers at him. “And why would you hide such a thing?”

“Well, I’m a bastard.”

“Then you are not worth my time.”

Alfred sighs. At this point, Yekaterina arrives and scolds her younger sister to be kinder to her host. (Alfred preens a little, but his ego still aches with the reminder that he is lesser.) She asks Alfred that night, when Natalia has turned in early, that Alfred be patient with her.

“Mother informs me that she almost staged this week,” Yekaterina says in a low voice, as if her parents are listening in to this conversation in the library.

“‘Almost’?”

“Our father persuaded her to say the words of her intended, Master Lukas Bondevik, but he refused to say them back. If I had to guess,” says Yekaterina, taking a sip of tea, “I would say that, though Natalia would never admit it, the experience frightened her.”

“What? But she got out of the staging. What’s there to be scared of?”

“If our father could persuade her to say the words once, he will certainly be able to do it again. She means to distance herself. She disagrees with what she is being told.” Yekaterina looks at Alfred with a spark in her eye. “I believe that you may get along well with her.”

Admittedly, it’s a challenge for Alfred to like her more than he initially did. For two months, she bites back at his every attempt to be kind. He invites her to tea, and she declines. He shows her around the house, and she slips away.

In a way, it’s refreshing. She declines tea because she’s busy reading, which Alfred appreciates. She slips away to the garden, which Alfred understands. She exerts her free will in any way she can.

One day, he decides to show her another way to exert that will, by taking her downtown. They take a carriage, and he decides to tell her some stories now that she can’t escape from them.

“So then I tell Mattie, ‘There’s no way you’re going to—’ Hey, what are you looking at?”

She has jolted up and is looking out the window of the carriage. She’s noticed Starling Bakery, where Feliks is behind the counter serving customers.

A pang hits Alfred in the stomach. He drops by on occasion, but he hasn’t seen Toris since his first visit. Feliks warms up to him when Toris isn’t around, and they chat, but he shuts down whenever Alfred tries to steer the conversation towards Feliks’s business partner.

Alfred tries to maintain his cheer. “What, did you want to go there?” he asks, turning to Natalia. “Starling Bakery—it’s really good, actually. The guys there are really cool, too. Especially the baker. Kind of shy, but he makes the _best_ —okay, so I don’t remember what it’s called, but it’s like this honey-layered wafer thing…”

He lets the carriage continue to take them downtown, where Alfred shows Natalia some sights he knew as a kid. But, in the back of his mind, he can’t stop thinking about Toris. His exhausted face follows Alfred all through downtown and back home.

That night, Alfred lies down on his bed. To him, Toris represents everyone wronged by this world. A great guy who deserves happiness, and instead has to carry on while his soulmate—whoever she is, whatever is wrong with her—pretends he doesn’t exist.

 _That doesn’t sound at all familiar,_ thinks Alfred bitterly.

His afternoon with Natalia doesn’t win him a new friend—she spends more and more time in the woods or, he heard once, the stables—but she begins to treat him more cordially. He’s not sure why, but he’ll take it. He doesn’t understand why even making a new friend is so hard for him these days. Yes, Natalia is stubborn and temperamental, but even if she no longer insults him, he can’t connect with her. He can’t connect with anyone.

Eventually, even Matthew takes notice.

Alfred is practicing his letters when someone knocks on his bedroom door.

“C’min,” says Alfred absently.

“Hey.” Matthew pushes the door open with his back; he’s carrying a tea tray, like he did when they were teens. When it was just the two of them, conspiring and daydreaming. “Katyusha says she missed you this evening. I think she’s getting used to having you around for her tea.”

“I told her I wasn’t feeling well,” says Alfred. He doesn’t look up.

Matthew sets the tea to the left of Alfred’s writing and sits on his bed. He’s twenty-two years old compared to Alfred’s nineteen, and he’s in the full dress of a lord, and he’s sitting cross-legged on Alfred’s bed.

Alfred looks up at him.

“I think we need to talk,” says Matthew.

“What’s the problem?” says Alfred, setting down his practice charcoal. “I’ve been lying low.”

“Lying low doesn’t mean ignoring everyone, Al.”

“I’ve been hanging out with Natalia—”

“And I appreciate it. She doesn’t talk to Katyusha and she won’t even look at me, but she handles you a lot better than I would have expected.”

“Real nice, Mattie.”

“What I mean,” presses Matthew, “is that Ludwig’s saying you’re acting strangely during your lessons. And Katyusha says you’re not as talkative anymore, and you never leave the manor anymore, and…” He sighs. “Did something happen with Ivan?”

Alfred examines his brother. Matthew’s been busy, staying up late most nights to scour their father’s diaries for tips and hints. Most heirs don’t inherit their titles until their early thirties. Matthew has been a lord since he was twenty-one, and he has to take extra pains to be taken seriously. He looks tired. Not unlike how Alfred feels, but while Matthew compensates with work, Alfred compensates with…what?

“Nothing happened with Ivan,” Alfred says, and his bitterness leaks through despite his attempts to remain neutral. “Ivan’s on the same path he always was.”

Matthew raises an eyebrow.

“You know,” clarifies Alfred. "Still staging and all that.”

“He said he would at the beginning, didn’t he?”

“Well, yeah.”

“So?”

“So he wasn’t supposed to—mean it!” Suddenly Alfred is fully facing his brother, gesticulating wildly. “But he does, Mattie, and I thought learning to write and giving him words would make him reconsider. Or at least, at least he’d feel like he could talk to me, like I’m not some random commoner barging into his life and ruining everything. Like I’m educated, like him! That we can talk about more than two topics, that he can tell me stories, that he can _confide_ in me! But no, every meeting we’ve had, one of us has done something wrong—Ivan tries to defend Dad, or I can’t even pick up on the fact that he doesn’t want a hug, or something that just makes me feel so—mismatched, to him.”

Alfred groans. “And now I’m sitting here thinking, ‘Okay, I can write and you have words now, so get angry at me! Contact me! Do _something!_ ’ But instead I haven’t heard anything from him, and I think he’s just trying to forget I exist so he doesn’t have to think about how he’s going to spend his life with another person, that I’m always going to have to be a secret, and—and I don’t _want_ to be a secret anymore. First with Dad, now with Ivan, and now probably even you’re like, ‘if Al tries to overreach on this charity thing, I’m going to have to lock him up—’”

“Whoa, whoa, hey,” says Matthew. He holds up both hands as if Alfred is a wild horse. Alfred _feels_ like a wild horse. He feels like he’s constantly outrunning the reins and the bridles that people keep throwing on him, constantly one step away from _bastard_ , _secret_ , _shame_.

“Alright. Um. There’s a few things to address there,” says Matthew. He slowly uncrosses his legs and presses them to the floor, seeking support as he leans closer to Alfred. “First of all. Do you not want to be an accountant anymore?”

“It’s not like I can un-learn how to read,” Alfred mumbles.

“That’s not what I asked. I’m asking if you still want to be an accountant. You and I agreed when Dad died that I’d get you a tutor, and you’d learn reading and accounting, and you’d work for me. Do you not want to do that anymore?”

“…No. No, I still want to.”

“Good. Then tell me why Ludwig says you’re no longer paying attention.”

“Because—okay, did you know Ludwig has a soulmate?”

“I’d imagine everyone does.”

“Well, his is a noble. Feliciano Vargas, you know him? And every time I look at him, I’m like, ‘how do you live like this? You see him two weeks a year, and neither of you are making any plans for the future, you’ve just decided that barely seeing each other is enough.’ I don’t get it. And that’s—that’s the _best_ I’m seeing out there, for soulmates. I got a little hopeful with Natalia, because I was thinking that if she was trying to escape staging, maybe other people could try too, but she’s just sitting here, just like I am, and…” Alfred puts his head in his hands. “I thought I was a hero. I thought just…being myself, would be enough.”

“But it’s not enough for Ivan.”

Alfred glares at Matthew.

“Hey, that’s just what I’m seeing. You wanted Ivan to see Natalia rebelling. You wanted him to rebel too.”

“…Yeah. I guess you’re right.” Alfred sighs. “But why am I even talking to you about this? You and Katyusha, neither of you rebelled.”

“Al, rebellion’s not the only way to get things done.”

“Get _what_ done? Your soulmate is still out there, he came to your _wedding_ for fates’ sake—”

“He what?” Matthew frowns.

Alfred pauses. Between Alfred meeting his soulmate, and their father’s death, and Matthew’s sudden business, this one detail has gone unannounced for more than a year. “He, uh. Came to your wedding.”

“You said that. When?”

“I saw him at the reception. I told him to leave, like you said I should. But Mattie, he looked so broken.”

Matthew’s expression is growing increasingly more lost. “What did he say?”

Alfred strains to remember. “It’s not like he said he was going to give up doing business. If anything, he seemed more bitter about nobility as a whole. He asked why I was trying to get closer in, when I’d be freer outside of it. And then I met Ivan as I was going back to see Dad, and…I guess it slipped my mind. Oh, he…”

“What.” Matthew can sense that Alfred is trying to hide more.

“He still has your words.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Apparently they burned when you staged? But they don’t disappear.” Alfred rolls up his sleeve and looks at his own words. “And now that’s always in the back of my mind. One day I’m going to be walking around and Ivan’s going to stage, and I’m going to feel it, and then that’ll be it for us. We gave it a shot, and now…well.” Alfred looks up at his brother, who’s still lost in thought. At this point, he’s soliloquizing. “Mattie, meeting my soulmate was supposed to be _it._ I knew he was going to be a noble, but—I thought I was luckier. I thought that because Mom died and because Dad couldn’t acknowledge me, good things were supposed to happen to me later to make up for it. And—what’s the _point_ of this? If I don’t get to have a soulmate, a real soulmate who loves me, what do I get to have? Why do I have to keep these words, even though Ivan’s going to ignore me for the rest of my life?”

Alfred’s voice breaks at the last word. His eyes well with tears as he speaks, and now he can’t speak anymore. Silence rests between him and his brother, until Matthew fully stands off the bed.

“Up,” he says. He holds out a hand to Alfred.

Alfred ducks his head, hiding his tears. But he takes the hand. Matthew pulls him up from his chair and wraps his arms around him, and rocks him from side to side. Alfred buries his head into Matthew’s neck and sniffles. He can feel Matthew doing the same.

The two stand there, taking ragged breaths and trying to hold in their sobs. Alfred wonders how long it’s been since he’s tried to hug anyone besides Ivan. He forgot how much he misses it. He misses that Mattie’s the same height as him, and that he hugs tightly enough for Alfred to lose his breath.

He swallows a lump in his throat.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” says Matthew. “I can’t do anything to make this better.”

“I know,” says Alfred. “I thought I could, though.” His next breath comes out a shaky laugh. “Some hero I am.”

“Al.” If possible, Matthew squeezes Alfred even tighter. “You’re still my hero. Just by being my brother, you’re my hero. And I love you so much, and I’m sorry you’re hurt.”

Alfred squeezes back. His thanks is caught in his throat.

“Would it make you feel better to go away for a while?” asks Matthew softly.

Alfred tenses.

“Don’t—I know what you’re thinking,” Matthew chides. “I’m not sending you away because I’m Lord Williams now. I’m saying maybe you’re too close to this soulmate thing.”

“But—Ivan could stage—”

“And it sounds like he was determined to from the start, and if you don’t do something else, you’re going to keep sitting here feeling helpless.” Matthew adjusts his chin on Alfred’s shoulder. “Please don’t. You can’t keep beating yourself up over this.”

“What if I did something wrong?”

“You didn’t. Neither did he. You’re just two men, trying to start a life together.”

“I don’t even _have_ a life.”

“And there’s your problem.” Matthew pulls himself away and holds Alfred by the shoulders. “You’re sitting around and waiting. Thinking about yourself. Hardly something a hero would do."

Alfred swallows. Sighs. Nods. “Maybe you’re right.”

* * *

“Something wrong?”

Alfred lifts his head. “Sorry?”

“Hm. You need a drink,” the barkeep concludes. He turns around and begins pouring something light and frothy.

Alfred watches the barkeep’s back absently. He did it. He’s in a new town, the furthest he’s ever been away from home. It’s another port town, and Matthew has set up a year for him to begin his apprenticeship with Lord Karpusi, a noble he’s met at the royal palace. Alfred stepped off the boat just this morning and was shown to his quarters by a bookkeeper (or something—not a servant, at any rate) who introduced himself as Kiku. Kiku seemed down-to-earth, but more reserved than Alfred was used to.

Matthew assured Alfred that he would like the work. This town is far better known for its scholarship; considerably more commoners here are literate, thanks to charitable programs established by those like Lord Karpusi (a great lover of philosophy and equality, according to Kiku). Alfred will likely be grateful to Matthew later, for the chance to work with people who want to learn to read.

Right now, though, he’s in shock. His new employer seems far too lenient, and he knows nobody here, and it’s raining outside, and all he knows is that he would very much like the drink that the barkeep is currently placing on the counter in front of him.

“This one’s on me,” says the barkeep with a grin. He has blond hair that nearly stands up, and bright blue eyes. Across his face is a smattering of freckles.

“Thanks, but I really shouldn’t,” says Alfred. He offers a small smile and places a heavy coin on the counter.

The barkeep’s eyes widen. “Okay, first of all, it really is on me. Second of all, you’d be getting a _lot_ of change back.”

“Tip?” Alfred offers sheepishly.

The barkeep pushes the coin back towards Alfred. “Try that if you buy a second one. Which, hey, you might.” He winks. “I’m still learning my stuff, but I bet you’ll like this one.”

Alfred puts away the coin and takes a sip. He tastes mostly froth at first, but nods his head gratefully all the same. “Sorry,” he says, “I just got here. Still learning the currency.”

“How soon is ‘just got here’?” asks the barkeep. He begins wiping the counter where he spilled some of Alfred’s beer.

“This morning.”

“Ah. Can I ask why?”

“Well, the short story is that I’m here on apprenticeship. I’m supposed to spend a year with Lord Karpusi, working for some of his charities on the accounting side.”

“Just a year?”

“Well, I can leave sooner than that. If I have to.”

The barkeep frowns. “I don’t know, this place is pretty nice. I’m not sure why you’d want to leave.”

“I’m homesick, I guess. I’ve never been so far away before.”

“Eh, me too,” says the barkeep, and he offers another smile. “To tell you the truth, I only moved here a few months ago.”

“Really? How come?” asks Alfred. He can’t imagine someone moving from one port town to another—where the jobs are all roughly the same—just to become a barkeep.

“The short story is that my soulmate and I were escaping,” says the barkeep.

Alfred’s ears prick up. Escaping? The word reverberates in his head—clearing the fog of disappointments for himself and Ivan, Matthew and Lars, Yekaterina and her soulmate, Toris and his, Feliciano and Ludwig, even Alfred’s own parents—and standing before him right now is someone who may have had better luck than all of them combined.

“Escaping?” Alfred asks as mildly as he can.

“Yeah, he was a noble,” says the barkeep. “I got his words when I was seven, and then…well.” He leans in conspiratorially. “I learned to read. So then he’d have words too.”

Alfred’s face falls. “He probably didn’t want them.”

“No, I’m pretty sure he did. I mean, the minute I said his words, he kissed me.”

Alfred blanches. “He—he wasn’t ashamed? That you were a commoner?”

The barkeep rubs the back of his neck. “Not exactly ashamed. But his first words to me were—well, see for yourself.” His sleeve is already half-unrolled to let him clean, so he lifts it up the rest of the way to show Alfred.

_Your handwriting is shit, you know._

Alfred blinks. He thinks to the words on his own arm, much politer. _Excuse me. I did not mean to cause such a mess._ He clenches his right hand to keep from lifting his own sleeve to look. It won’t do anything.

“So he knew I was a commoner, from the handwriting,” says the barkeep, adjusting his sleeve back. “I just don’t think he cared.”

“But— _how?_ ” Alfred direly needs to know. If there’s anything he can do to persuade Ivan—

But then, he’s too far away from Ivan, isn’t he? He’s here to gain some distance, to keep himself occupied. To forget for a while.

The barkeep answers his question with a shrug. “He just wanted a soulmate. He saw how his parents staged, and how they got along but they didn’t quite love each other. And though he doesn’t say it directly or anything, I think he wanted more than that.”

“So he didn’t think he was going to find the same thing from a staging?”

“With all these questions, I think you’d better just meet him,” says the barkeep. “Do you need me to change your drink?” he asks, pointing to Alfred’s mostly-full glass.

“No, it’s fine, thanks,” says Alfred. He takes another few sips and is surprised to find he likes it. “It’s good, actually.”

“I try,” says the barkeep with a smile. “Well, since we’re talking so much already—I’m Mathias,” he says, holding out his hand over the counter.

“Alfred,” says Alfred, taking his hand. It feels good to know someone’s name in this city. “Hey, Mathias, answer a question for me?”

“Like I’ve been already? Sure, go for it.”

“What family was your soulmate from? I think I know most of them.”

“Oh, he was a Bondevik. Lukas Bondevik.”

“Hey—he almost staged with Natalia Braginski, didn’t he?”

“Uh, maybe. Honestly, I was preoccupied at the time. I was waiting in his room for him.”

“But he refused to say her words. Did he know you were waiting?”

“He hadn’t met me yet, but his brother found me.” Mathias chuckles a little. “I saved him from drowning, and he helped me find Lukas. Seems like a fair trade.”

Alfred suspects there’s more to the story, but he presses on. “So then what happened once you met? How did you get from just meeting to eloping? It must have happened really fast—the staging was only, what, five months ago?”

“Hm.” Mathias begins wiping a glass, but looks up when another customer comes in. “Hold that thought,” he says. “I have to think about it, anyway.”

 _What’s there to think about?_ Alfred wonders. But then again, he’s constantly being surprised these days by how soulmates work. He looks out the window at the rain and takes steady sips of his beer. By the time Mathias comes back, Alfred is more than halfway finished.

“Okay, so.” Mathias begins. “The more I think about what happened, the more I’m seeing how slowly we took it in our thoughts. It just—seemed so easy, to talk to him. But it helps that we wanted the same things. Like, before I left his home I asked him, ‘Do you want to see me after today?’ and he said yes. Then I asked him if he thought I could live with him, and he said no. So I went home knowing where I stood with him there. Then…well, the next time I saw him, his little brother had told him he’d take the title if Lukas decided to leave. So that was really helpful.”

Alfred sighs. He knew there was going to be some way Mathias was luckier than he was.

“Something the matter?” asks Mathias.

“My soulmate’s the only son. His older sister is married to my brother, and his younger sister—Natalia, you know—I think she’s going to cut the balls off anyone else who tries to stage with her.”

Mathias makes a face. “You’re soulmates with a Braginski?”

“Yeah, and they’re really good at brainwashing their kids. Ivan didn’t even entertain the thought of running away with me. He didn’t even want me to learn to write.”

Mathias frowns. “Seems a bit extreme. Wouldn’t he want words?”

“That’s what I said! But he’s worried someone will use them to stage with him. Apparently having a blank arm is better because nobody can say your words, because nobody knows what they are.”

Mathias shrugs. “That seems fair. So what options did you talk about?”

Alfred pauses. “Options?”

“Well, if he was so determined to stage, you could offer to learn to write after he’d already spoken to his intended. Or you could learn to write on the condition that he hire you later. Or—well, if you’re here, maybe you already told him he could stage with your words.” Mathias looks thoughtful. “Did you tell him what you wanted with him?”

“Well, sure, I…” Hm. The more Alfred reflects, the more he realizes that he sort of assumed how things would go. Ivan would run away with him, and they’d have a life together somehow, and that would be all. He didn’t state so much as pressure.

“Did he at least tell you what he wanted?”

Alfred’s sure about that. “He wanted to stage.”

“And that was it?”

“Well…he said we should continue as if he was going to stage. And then we were supposed to figure it out later.” Alfred frowns. “That was the idea behind the ground rules. Don’t tell anyone, talk over everything…”

Well, everything except Alfred learning accounting. Alfred honestly did meant to tell Ivan—he just worried that Ivan would become skittish. Which he did. So it isn’t Alfred’s fault for not wanting to tell him.

“Okay, ground rules are good,” says Mathias.

“But I might have broken one of them.”

“Not so good.”

“I know.” Alfred downs the rest of his drink. He slips a smaller, less heavy coin onto the counter. “Wanna try this again?”

“Same beer? Sure.” Mathias refills his glass, and talks as he does. “Look, I’m not saying Lukas and I were compatible on everything. He wanted to stay closer to his brother, but the only place I knew that would have work for us both was here. That was a hard decision. I wanted to buy clothing he’d be more used to so he wouldn’t get homesick, but he knew how to handle a paycheck better than I did. That was hard too. It took us a few weeks to find a place to live, and the whole time he’d panic about the dirtiness of the inn and how fast our money was going. And every few days he still gets irritable because he’s portmaster here, and he’s not used to dealing with all these non-nobles. But I’ve done that for every day of my life, so it’s hard for me to understand what he’s talking about. Until he locked me out of the house one night for not listening, I didn’t even think to try just sitting there and sympathizing. I’d try to fix everything for him.” Mathias shakes his head at himself as he hands Alfred the refilled glass.

“But you never doubted that you were right for each other?” asks Alfred.

“You can’t think that way,” says Mathias. “I sure couldn’t. Every time I got upset—whether because Lukas was upset or because of something else—I’d think back to all the days I didn’t have him around. We don’t have so many days together, so that helps me remember. But…well, it’s a weird thing, but it helps me. You and Ivan, you know you’re soulmates, right?”

“Right…”

“So the fates put you together, right?”

“Right.”

“And that’s what the fates decided. They decided what you’d be born as, and how you’d meet, and what you’d say to each other. But everything past that is what _you_ decide.”

“What? But how am _I_ supposed to decide if _he_ wants to stage? Or if the nobility says he can’t be with me?”

“I had those problems too,” says Mathias. “Even if Lukas didn’t want to stage, he still had to deal with it. The only thing I knew was that I wanted to be with him. That’s why I learned to read—I was trying to tell him I was coming. So, when things got hard, I remembered that I was still choosing to be with him. And he was choosing to be with me.”

“So…Ivan is choosing not to be with me.” Alfred’s heart sinks.

Mathias leans on the counter and looks at Alfred with a gentler smile. “I’m no expert on your relationship. But if Ivan doesn’t want words because he doesn’t want someone else to say them, I don’t think he’s chosen anything yet.”

“Huh. So am I choosing not to be with him?”

“I dunno. Are you?”

“I thought I was just taking a break. Mattie—my brother—said I should.”

“Then you’re taking a break, aren’t ya?” Mathias grins. “You don’t have to have all the answers now.”

“It’s been almost two years,” says Alfred morosely. “I feel like I should have answers.”

Mathias shrugs. “Well, I can’t give them to you. I doubt anybody can. But if you feel like trying, I work every day except Sundays and Mondays.” He begins to take off his apron. At the other end of the bar, another man is slipping under the counter and reaching for the apron Mathias offers. “And I usually go home and cook dinner for me and Lukas about this time.” He raises his eyebrows questioningly.

Alfred raises an eyebrow back. He’s known Mathias for all of fifteen minutes. But—and Alfred feels a little strange to realize it—he’s the first commoner friend Alfred has had in years. It satisfies a part of him that he didn’t realize was going wanting.

“If you’re offering,” says Alfred with a smile, “I’m in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skruzdėlynas is a Lithuanian dessert, usually in tower form (Alfred got a small one), whose name literally translates to "anthill." It was one of my favorite foods in Lithuania, right up there with Lithuanian dumplings.


	4. Ivan and Alfred

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seem to have very little patience for my own endings. I put off editing this, thinking I could add more letters or make the end less cheesy. Then again, from the feedback I get, everyone here seems to like cheese.
> 
> I don't say this nearly enough, so: I'm so grateful that you're reading this story! Thank you for all of your comments, your bookmarks, your kudos, and your overwhelming enthusiasm about a random thought I had a year ago. You guys are the reason I keep posting stuff I write instead of keeping it forever in my Dropbox, and the superb fandom experience I have here wouldn't be possible without you.
> 
> (Tl;dr: my cheeks always ache from smiling whenever I see you guys kudosed/commented on/even looked at stuff I write.)

“A letter for you, Master Braginski.”

“Oh? Ah, thank you, Eduard.” Ivan smiles absently to the butler, who nods and leaves as quickly as possible.

Ivan watches him march down the corridor with a sigh. It appears he still intimidates all but a select few.

Ivan is the only Braginski sibling in the manor. Natalia has been staying with Yekaterina for the past four months, and she shows no sign of returning. Ivan wishes he could do likewise. He wonders how his sisters are doing.

Oh, who is he kidding. He wonders how _Alfred_ is doing. They haven’t spoken since Alfred has announced he was taking up accounting. That was six months ago. Ivan was certain Alfred would contact him after he had cooled down, but he didn’t. Then Ivan worried himself into thinking Alfred wanted to be left alone.

To his own surprise, Ivan has stalled his staging process as much as he can. He implored Feliciano to take another two months on duplicating his portrait, and Feliciano happily complied, pointing out tiny flaws and shoddy paints and winking to Ivan the entire time. Ivan wishes he had reason to celebrate. Waiting for Alfred—let alone waiting to summon the nerve to reach out to Alfred—occupied his days.

At the end of the second month, Lord Braginski lost patience. Feliciano was chastised after his fifth portrait, despite that said portrait apparently “does not flatter Master Braginski’s nose at all, my lord”. Feliciano took two weeks to quietly finish the rest, at which point Lord Braginski sent them to the list of eligible stagees he’d compiled through rumor and his vast network.

How long is he supposed to wait for Alfred? Ivan wonders. These days and especially at night, he kicks himself repeatedly. He thought he could put Alfred on hold while he thinks about staging. Now he has all the thinking time he wants.

The envelope he holds has his sister’s handwriting on it. He receives letters from her every so often, brief ones talking about their sister or his brother-in-law. He can’t ask about Alfred without seeming suspicious, so his replies remain brief. For his brevity, he gives the excuse of preparing for staging.

He’s prepared for another letter in similar fashion, so when he opens it and sees large, ill-formed letters, he stops.

He rolls up his sleeve. His words formed a month after his argument with Alfred. The words are blockish. _It’s okay—a hero can fix anything!_ So much more optimistic than the last words he heard Alfred say.

He looks back to the letter he’s received. The writing is the same. _  
_

He unfolds the letter with sharp movements and reads.

_July 22  
Dear Ivan,_

_Ludwig taught me how to write in formal letter style, but I’m not going to do that. It’s already taking me a long time to double-check my spelling._

_I left a few weeks ago to complete an apprenticeship with Lord Karpusi, a day’s sailing from home. I’m working for one of his charities which teaches commoners to read. I like it a lot. It makes me feel like a hero._ [He draws a small smile after this. Ivan understands the lengths to which Alfred is going not to be formal.]

_I have some new friends here. One of them is the guy who tried to stage with your sister. He and his soulmate talk to me about how they met, since they ran away instead of letting him stage. I was trying to make you run away too. I’m sorry. I wasn’t listening very well. I’m sorry I gave you words, too. I just wanted to read and write so we could be more equal, and so I could have work to do. I know why you didn’t want the words, though. I should have talked to you about it._

_I’m trying to figure things out, but I miss you. I keep thinking of everyone back home and how they can’t be with their soulmates, and it makes me upset. But even if we’re not very lucky, we could have things a lot worse._

~~_Love,_ ~~  
~~_Your soulmate,_ ~~  
~~_Yours,_ ~~  
_Alfred_

He doodled a rudimentary sunflower beside his name.

Ivan finishes the letter with a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. He looks back at the envelope. Alfred must have sent the letter to the Williams manor, so that Yekaterina could disguise it with her own writing. This must mean that at this point, his older sister knows about their relationship.

The thought should frighten Ivan more than it does. His sister will answer any question his father asks, up to and including questions about any suspicious letters. But, two years ago at her marriage, his sister also would be too frightened to smuggle letters for anyone. Perhaps marriage has changed her.

And besides. All of Ivan’s thoughts turn quiet at the thought that, if Alfred had obeyed Ivan’s pleas, Ivan would not be holding this letter in his hand.

He sets it down, pulls out another piece of parchment, and begins to write.

 _July 29_ _  
_ _Dearest Alfred,_

_Your apologies are accepted, and I hope you will accept my own. Because of my own affairs, I was unable to imagine your boredom and your frustration for lack of literacy. It is an immense relief to me that we may write to each other now. While I remain nervous that my words will be discovered, I have forgotten this benefit._

_I am curious as to why you have left our city to complete your accounting studies. Ludwig could certainly have found you work, and if nothing else, I could have given you a position. But then, my family’s charities are restricted to caring for orphans, and only through my mother. In such a case, I would enjoy learning more of the work you do, and of what you think of Lord Karpusi. My father dislikes him for his lethargy, but you are not my father._

_I am furthermore interested in hearing the story of your new friends. If this is the intended I am thinking of, a small stir has arisen in the noble community as his brother has been announced as heir._

_Yours,  
Ivan ~~Braginski~~_

* * *

_August 14  
Dear Ivan,_

_Today Mathias’s friends Berwald and Tino moved here. Berwald is huge! But it turns out he’s very nice, just quiet. Tino was Lukas’s servant, and…we don’t know if he and Berwald are soulmates, but they act like they are. I got him work with Lord Karpusi. Apparently Tino is good at taking care of cats._

_He and Berwald are both commoners, so neither of them have words, but their story is really nice all the same. Tino went to the market to get food, and Berwald would go to the market so often to look at him that he finally got a job there. Then he would get so nervous that he couldn’t speak to Tino, but then Tino stood at his stall and refused to get help from anyone else!_

_I thought you would like that because I don’t know if you’ve heard any commoner soulmate stories. I asked Mathias how they were sure they were soulmates, and Mathias said Berwald was sure the minute he saw him._

_How many people have you heard back from, since you last wrote me? I hope it was just the Cech family who was interested. Beata may need staging, but her brother Stefan would really miss her, so he would probably pitch a fit._

_Alfred_

* * *

_August 29  
Dearest Alfred,_

_I have enclosed a gift. My father continues to hire researchers to find my writing on another’s arm, at my insistence. One researcher in particular is highly disorganized and one day he brought a considerably old stack of papers copied from the main archives. Many of the cases were closed—the soulmates were found._

_I have stolen the paper containing the words your father said to your mother. I imagine you already know your father’s handwriting, but because the case is closed, the document also contains information about the Williams’ deal with her to remain quiet. They have even recorded details of your mother and her statements. I did not know your grandfather was ill._

_Your father was not very imaginative. “Are you Sarah Jones?” is much less interesting than the words you spoke to me._

_Kindly inform me of your days at work. You send letters every week, but you speak little of them._

_Yours,  
Ivan_

* * *

_September 30  
Dear Ivan,_

_Isn’t your father getting suspicious by now? He must have looked through all the handwriting records at least twice. He might actually find me, you know. (He probably won’t—my dad wanted to hide me, so he couldn’t register me. Are lords even allowed to not register their kids? Are you registered?)_

_I forgot how warm it is to live by a port. Lord Karpusi really likes it, though. Sometimes I come to a meeting and find him moving his chair next to the window, as quietly as possible so he doesn’t wake his cat who’s asleep in a sunbeam. Sometimes I think he is a cat. I tell Kiku about it sometimes, and he just shakes his head. But he smiles, which is a rare Kiku thing. More on that as I learn about it._

_Nothing special is happening at work. My handwriting is getting better (does that show up on your arm?), and I don’t have to check my spelling as often. It’s good because I take a lot of notes when I go talk to people. It’s amazing how patient people are. They love to watch me write, even if I can’t write like a noble. I think it gives them hope. Maybe I am a hero?  
_

_Alfred_

* * *

_October 13  
Dearest Alfred,_

_Peter is an interesting young man. It sounds as if he likes you. This does not surprise me, as I expect you would get along very well with children. That being said, how is the care of orphans in your city? This is one topic I can speak on with at least some authority. It would be a shame to sacrifice Peter’s basic care for his literacy._

_Natalia refuses to come home, which distresses my father. I fear that he will try to stage me sooner so as to focus his efforts on her, but my mother assures him that Natalia is only nearing marrying age, and that I too am at the early part of bachelorhood. I wish I could understand her charity. I wonder if she regrets staging with my father, but I do not know how to ask. The topic seems more something she would tell Katyusha._

_No, I do not cover my words with paste. I find it irritates my skin, and I do not know how to obtain it without causing suspicion. As you may imagine, I am grateful for the cooler weather; my long sleeves itch to be rolled up in summer._

_Yours,  
Ivan_

* * *

_November 5  
Dear Ivan,_

_Have I ever told you that you’re a genius? The minute I read your last letter—well, Lukas thought I was having a seizure or something from how excited I got. But he thought it was a good idea too, and he was a noble, so it’s definitely good._

_I explained things to Lord Karpusi, and it turns out he’s a really good friend of Romeo Vargas. Apparently they both love wine and looking at women, so they talk a lot at parties. Lord Karpusi thinks he can convince Lord Vargas to lend Feliciano, but he says I’m going to have to make up the project. I was thinking Feliciano could train some new art teachers for the school we’re setting up. That would take a whole year, wouldn’t it? At least a few months._

_I also asked about taking on Ludwig. Lord Karpusi was less excited about a second accountant because he already has me, but I convinced him he’d need somebody after I was gone. I don’t even think Lord Karpusi remembers I still have eight months to go. He just said yes._

_I’m just really glad Ludwig and Feliciano can spend more time together this way. And I’m really glad you had the idea. You’ve already sent the letter to Ludwig’s accounting firm, right? They’re obviously going to take your request over mine, and I can’t make Lord Karpusi do everything._

_Alfred_

* * *

_November 30  
Dearest Alfred,_

_I have seen Katyusha for the first time since she began relaying your letters. She promises she is not reading them, but I find myself uncomfortable with the way she looks at me. It feels as though she can see my future, though of course she cannot. Not even I can see my future these days._

_You would be interested to hear that Master Lars Van der Lee arrived at the Williams manor a few nights ago. He appeared to have been invited, and Katyusha appeared not to want to mention it. It slipped her tongue. I wonder why—is she embarrassed? I feel some embarrassment for her. I have faith in your brother, but I cannot help but wonder._

_I did not see Natalia, which is disconcerting. I do not know how she is spending her time at the Williams manor. What did she do with you?_

_To address your (rather unprecedented) question from your last letter: I suppose I have not considered myself a future father. I assumed I would become one, but (please take no offense) I also assumed I would have a soulmate, so I thought very little about both beforehand. I imagine that, as when I met you, when I become a father I will suddenly panic and feel poorly prepared. Hopefully I will be more graceful with my future child; you can grant me second chances, but children cannot._

_Have you had a chance to use Lord Karpusi’s library? I suspect that you have not had much chance to read fiction. I can recommend some science fiction, if you happen to be interested. Or else fairy tales; I find them to be very comforting._

_Yours,  
Ivan_

* * *

_December 10  
Dear Ivan,_

_It took me a week and a lot of lost sleep, but I just finished a volume of fairy tales. It was the only book from Lord Karpusi’s library, so I guess I have to move on to mythology, which he has more of. I knew some of the stories from my mom, but others were new to me. I never heard of Puss in Boots—does he remind you of anyone you know? (Kidding…)_

_Since you asked, I work mostly with Ludwig, but Feliciano is coming on our outings a lot more often. Ludwig and Feliciano do everything together. I think a lot of that is Feliciano’s doing, because he’s always dragging Ludwig to one place or another. Then again, it might be an excuse to feel Ludwig’s arms as he goes. Seriously, he’s an accountant—how is he so built?_

_They’re also doing a lot of things with Kiku, which is surprising. Feliciano really likes him and Ludwig likes that he gets work done, so whenever we’re at the manor, they drag Kiku along with us to get food or make plans for our next outing. Sometimes I feel like they have a trio, but then I remember that Kiku lets me work in his office with him sometimes, and sometimes he shares the food he made that reminds him of home, and I have Mathias and Lukas and Berwald and Tino outside of work._

_I tried to show Mathias the constellations last night. Lord Karpusi’s library doesn’t have many books on astronomy, but I bought a few recent ones, and now I’m learning even more about constellations. Mathias thought it was interesting, but it wasn’t the same as when you and I went stargazing. He was probably too cold to care. Lukas glared at me today because apparently Mathias slept with his cold feet on Lukas’s legs._

_Maybe I’ll try taking out Tino and Berwald tomorrow. Neither of them mind the cold as much as Mathias does, and at least Tino will like the stories I’m learning. Or at least, I hope._

_Alfred_

* * *

_December 23  
Dearest Alfred,_

_Forgive me for delaying my response to your last letter. I find myself unfortunately morose this week, and would not contribute well to any particular topic._

_Natalia made a very brief appearance at the Christmas gala before she went to her chambers. Katyusha says she is not feeling well, but when I spoke to her, she seemed well. When she spoke to our parents, though, she pretended to have a delicate stomach. Her acting abilities leave something to be desired, but I am interested to see how long Father will allow her to continue staying with Katyusha. I admire her determination to stay away from staging. I wonder if the appearance of her words last year fueled it._

_I find myself missing you. Orion rises higher each night, and I know only you will care. I have glimpsed Sirius many times, but it still appears to be only one star. Still, the literature published indicates that there are two. (Sometimes I entertain the absurd thought that soulmates are a similar way. We believe the pair is a single entity, but it can be separated. In such a case, I would rather Sirius remain whole.)_

_I wish you a good Christmas celebration with your friends. It pleases me to hear they take such good care of you._

_Yours,  
Ivan_

* * *

_January 13  
Dear Ivan,_

_You’ll never guess what. (I probably shouldn’t be writing this in a letter, or gossiping about my boss, but I have to tell someone and you don’t live in the same city as him.) Lord Karpusi and Kiku are soulmates! They’ve known each other for years, apparently, and that’s why Kiku never went home to his family in the east after he finished studying here. Lord Karpusi met him at a course he sponsored, and once Kiku was finished, he hired him._

_(Please don’t think I’m trying to hint at anything here, because I just thought it was really interesting. And I’m also surprised because Lord Karpusi is usually so open about things. Apparently he really can keep secrets?)_

_I have to admit that it’s a little weird being around all of these couples. At least they’re happy couples, even if it’s temporary like for Ludwig and Feliciano. On the bright side, I met Lukas’s little brother, Emil, and he’s single too. He came for a belated Christmas celebration, but only for a day so Lord Bondevik wouldn’t realize he was missing a meeting with some other nobles in town. He’s a cute kid (well, teenager anyway), and he hasn’t met his soulmate yet. I don’t think he wants to. He sounded really interested in the charity work I’m doing for Lord Karpusi. Maybe I can work with him later?_

_I need to ask because Natalia almost staged last March, and we’re getting closer to March. Is there a season for stagings? I thought maybe you didn’t tell me anything about them lately because they don’t happen during winter. But then, most nobles have their weddings in summer, so you’d have to stage soon, right?_

_Alfred_

* * *

_February 1  
Dearest Alfred,_

_Impatience is growing high in my household. Most of the nobles looking to stage at this time are men, or women of too low rank for my father to consider. He has cut ties with Lord Van der Lee, whose son was a collector of commoner handwriting and words, when Lars stole back his collection from his father. My father now lacks many of the resources he has relied on to find the worded who have evaded the records, including some new records with which he has threatened Natalia._

_My staging time may be delayed. My mother reminds my father that this is normal, that noble families will wait as long as possible before suggesting staging because of the shame it brings. My father counters that women must seek husbands sooner than men must seek wives, so more women should be available than there are. Still, those women who do need staging will likely be revealed in time._

_I find it harder to face my father. He has not seen my words, but I grow more concerned that he will. Warm weather will come again, and with it the chance for him to see my words through my loosened sleeves._

_Please do not be upset by my concerns. I’m grateful to exchange letters with you, and I could never wish you had not learned to write. I am only tired of waiting to learn what my future holds._

_I am pleased to know that your work is active and your friends are well. You must be satisfied to finally have something to do._

_Yours,  
Ivan_

* * *

_February 15  
Dear Ivan,_

_I’m barely halfway towards the end of my apprenticeship, but Mattie is writing me now, and it’s really weird to get three letters at once (you, him, and Katyusha). He’s asking what I think of my work, whether I want to continue it, whether I could do it at home, etc. He doesn’t really talk about what’s going on at home. He hasn’t mentioned Lars. Do you know anything more about that?_

_I watch Mathias and Lukas talk, and they get each other’s permission for things. They haven’t had as many big decisions to make since they decided to elope, but Mathias still asks Lukas before asking for a raise at work, and Lukas asks Mathias for advice when he’s dealing with a rude employee. I want to try that with you, because I didn’t before. So: what do you think about me continuing charity work back home?_

_Here’s what I think. A lot of children near the ports aren’t getting enough of anything. So I could work with your family’s charity on food and clothing, and then anything I do with literacy I could fund through Mattie, so your father won’t be angry. All I know is that I want to give commoners as much as I can without getting arrested. That would be hard at home because people could see our words match up, and they would get suspicious. Here, people just say I must have a very lucky soulmate, and I tell them he’s in another city._

_Anyway, let me know what you think._

_Alfred_

* * *

_February 22  
Dearest Alfred,_

_While you know that, in its essence, I support your cause, I wonder at its message. My family’s charities focus on promoting feeding the populace, with only a few side projects to provide anything else. Adding a literacy component sends a signal that the Braginskis do not support the current laws to restrict literacy to the upper class. We cannot afford that message. We are not your city, Alfred._

_That being said, I wish this city to be better. I wish only to go slower in providing one service after another. We have a history of employing orphan servants, and while certain scandals have occurred—for instance, my father has fired servants for developing words—we could become more generous in our hiring. If we were to gradually provide literacy training for the purpose of employment, rather than for literacy’s sake, then we may gain more support from other noble families who wish to avoid sending the same signal, but who still wish to help. We would have to integrate the program into larger ones providing clothing and medicine, but it could be done._

_On a brief side note: your accounting training is doing you well. Your brother says your letters to him sound as how you spoke when you were younger. I notice some of the same traits. I hope that returning home will not break your determination. Let me know what more I can do to help you, whether as an heir or as myself.  
_

_Yours,  
Ivan_

* * *

_March 13  
Dear Ivan,_

_I know you have to get married. I know your family needs an heir. I get that. I probably get it even better now that you can write everything out and I can’t interrupt you._

_Now it’s my turn. Yeah, you probably will need a wife if you and I are going to interact in public without causing suspicion. But we’d have to tell her what’s going on with us, and let’s be honest, she’d have to say your words. (Unless you can make her say something else to you, so she doesn’t?)_

_But, if you find this person, this could work. Our families are already combined because of Mattie and Katyusha, so I’d just be a family friend, and we’d work together. Maybe when you become Lord Braginski we can focus more on the things I’m doing. I would be alright with that._

_Don’t worry about this, but recently I’ve been having trouble falling asleep sometimes. Then I look out the window and see Sirius, and your comments about it around Christmas still make me sad. It helps me to remind myself, so I’m reminding you: Sirius wouldn’t shine half as bright without two stars making it up._

_Alfred_

* * *

Ivan is completing another letter to Alfred when he’s summoned.

“Lord Braginski requests your presence in the parlor immediately,” says Eduard. He all but sprints off before Ivan can ask for clarification.

Ivan’s blood chills. Has his father finally, after a year, seen his words? The weather has been steadily warming for months, but he has taken care to wear cooling but still restrictive sleeves. Is Ivan being revealed? Punished?

Ivan stands and makes his way out of his room, trying to steady himself. If his father was truly summoning him for his words, he would likely have Eduard accompany him. Eduard was in too much of a hurry. It must be another matter. And even if this meeting were about his words, Ivan would—what? He wouldn’t tell the truth—Alfred is doing well, too well for Ivan to want to risk his arrest for not being registered. Maybe Ivan would run away. Now that he knows Lukas Bondevik had done it successfully, he finds more faith in the idea.

All he knows is that he has to keep Alfred safe and happy.

But how? What long-term arrangement can they make for themselves? So far even Feliciano and Ludwig are doing better than they, and though Ivan tries to offer help and suggestions to Alfred’s ideas of charity, they’re like bandages on a gaping wound. In the long term, Ivan needs to keep the Braginski name in good standing. He needs an heir, and he needs to obey the laws of the land. He can’t entangle himself in teaching literacy to commoners, not unless he finds a way to change the laws themselves. Not even Alfred is above the law.

But even if he can find a way to make Alfred happy with his grandiose plans, he cannot be happy himself. The letters—a small drawing of a sunflower etched on every envelope, copied by his sister to mark a letter from Alfred enclosed—brighten the dimness of his days as he recognizes fewer of the servants, speaks less with his parents, sees less of his sisters. Ivan is lonely. And even marrying another person, he suspects, won’t fill the Alfred-shaped hole that aches every time an envelope is placed into his hands.

Ivan steps into the parlor, ushered in by his mother who is in a much greater hurry with Eduard at her back. Ivan sits on a sofa at the opposite end from his mother, while his father sits in his armchair, looking for all the world like he is going to murder the person on the other side of this door.

Eduard inspects the family and attempts to compose himself. He then opens the door leading from the parlor to the main hall, where they receive guests.

Natalia walks in, her face carefully composed to look neutral.

Ivan blinks.

Which is the bigger shock, he wonders absently? Toris, the family’s runaway kitchen servant, standing beside her? Or the linen-wrapped, _baby-sized_ bundle in Natalia’s arms?

“So,” Lord Braginski says, “this was the reason you requested to visit Yekaterina.”

A year, thinks Ivan as the conversation continues. A year has passed since Natalia almost staged, moved to the Williams manor, and kept out of sight. She wasn’t simply visiting, he realizes. She wasn’t avoiding going home for fear of staging.

Ivan tunes back in for the key explanation.

“I’m Natalia’s soulmate,” says Toris. He stares down Lord Braginski in an uncharacteristically stoic manner. Toris seems to dare Lord Braginski to remember hiring him, years ago when Toris was an unemployed orphan and Lord Braginski was losing face for his apathy in charity.

As Toris and Lord Braginski engage in a contest of wills, Ivan examines the situation. His eyes flicker from Toris, to Natalia, to the baby in their arms.

A baby. A bastard baby, born by a noble to a commoner. But Ivan knows plenty about bastards—indeed, the one he knows best would make a better lord than would Ivan—and he no longer cares about wedlock. Instead, he cares about Braginski blood. Blood that perhaps he won’t have to pass on.

No heir to sire means no need for a wife. Some of the most renowned lords have remained bachelors; Ivan will not face the same shame as would either of his sisters, for going unmarried. No need for a wife means…

Alfred.

He’s growing so giddy that he speaks out of turn.

“And Father, what is so bad about this?”

He’s unprepared for the tension of the room to wrap around him. He can’t divulge his current train of thought. He scrambles, but this new revelation— _no staging, no marriage, no need for an heir, no reason to keep away Alfred_ —cushions his nerves.

“Even an illegitimate heir is better than none,” he concludes. That at least is true. “And Sister has at least done us the service of staying at Katyusha’s manor. Nobody knows. We can tell the others what they expect to hear.”

He will make sure of it, he silently vows. He will speak in low tones to fellow nobles of his sister’s small marriage. Small enough to befit the least important child, so small that the family kept it private. Such a shame Natalia’s husband lives so far away, he’ll say.

As he outlines his thoughts, he trains his eyes on his sister. She, in turn, trains her eyes on the baby. For being his sister’s baby, it seems quite fussy in her arms. And Natalia seems unsure of what to do about it.

The baby begins crying, and Ivan nearly breathes a sigh of relief. Between Natalia’s treachery and this new commotion, his father is becoming too upset to fight the situation much further.

“Get these _headaches_ out of my parlor,” says Lord Braginski, and he rubs his temples as if he actually is developing one. Natalia and Toris see themselves out. Lord Braginski turns to his wife. “Our daughter is a traitor,” he says.

“We are fortunate, then, that we need only a son,” says Lady Braginski mildly.

Ivan tries to look the part of the loyal heir. “I would never forsake our family, Father.”

And he won’t. Though he now knows more about commoner life—their needs, their hopes, their frustrations—than he ever thought he’d learn in two years, in his heart he knows he’s a noble.

The stress pulling apart his heart falls away. His heart calls to remain noble, but also to love Alfred. The duties of one required sacrificing another. But in the screaming bundle in Natalia’s arms, he sees hope for a balance.

“I must think,” says Lord Braginski. He shoos away his wife and son. Ivan’s mother leaves the way she came. Ivan follows his sister out into the foyer.

“May I hold the baby?” he asks when Toris and Natalia turn around.

Without comment, Natalia hands him the baby. The baby stills in his arms. He wonders if his happiness is contagious. He hopes so. He feels that it is.

He examines the baby, subconsciously bouncing it as he does. “Do I have a niece, or a nephew?” he asks. A boy would be better, but he could make do with a girl.

“A niece,” says Toris. He sounds so different from when he worked in the kitchens. Prouder. Surer. Ivan looks up at him. He doesn’t quite understand until now that this is the man who has given his sister the words she was once proud to lack.

“And what is my niece’s name?” Ivan asks. He looks down back at the baby. She has brown hair, like Toris, and green eyes as well. But as she gazes back up at Ivan, he sees something amiss.

“Alexandra—”

“Kotryna—”

Natalia and Toris stare at each other. Ivan smiles. His suspicion is proven right.

“It is alright,” he says. “She has a dimple. Now, Sister is beautiful, but Sister has no dimple. Nor Toris.” It appears his sister—or perhaps this new bolder Toris—has a plan of her own to escape her fate.

“Maybe try for a son next time, _da?_ ” he requests. In his joy he’s feeling playful, and it shows in the old tic he used as a child. Even if this isn’t Toris’s and Natalia’s actual child, he can work with this. He’s depending on this.

“Maybe one day,” says Toris, “if Natalia—”

“Maybe one day,” says Natalia. She shuts down the topic, but Ivan suspects Natalia could be won over eventually. She’s already abandoning her family to be with a former kitchen servant.

“I hope for soon,” says Ivan. “Sister, you haven’t heard, but I think maybe it will be you to provide the heir.”

He gives the baby to Toris and unrolls his sleeve. For the solution she’s unwittingly providing him, his sister deserves the truth.

He sees Alfred’s blockish writing every few days, when he sends letters about everything from daily anecdotes to grandiose plans to veiled questions about their future. But with these words etched on his arm, he sees a true beginning.

_It’s okay—a hero can fix anything!_

“It’s maybe time I became a hero too,” says Ivan. He rolls up his sleeve. “But it appears my soulmate is not a heroine.”

With this conclusion and a few kind words exchanged with his sister and…well, whoever Toris now is to him, Ivan sees them out and returns to his bedroom.

He stares at the letter on his desk, full of the uncertainties that lingered at the time of writing. He’s trying to rein back his Alfred-style enthusiasm to realism. To be fair, in terms of charities they do have to go slow. But now Ivan suspects that, in another respect, they can afford to go faster.

* * *

Several months later, Ivan sits sweltering in the musty heat of the Williams parlor. He’s been informed that the velvet armchair he sits in is where the late Lord Williams preferred to take his tea. Ivan only chose it for the view of the courtyard.

It’s August, and Alfred’s apprenticeship ended a few days ago. Today he returns, after giving himself a few days to say goodbye to his friends. He will be a full-time accountant for the Williams manor, depositing money into various charities and slowly converging his causes with those of the Braginski charities. The rest remains to be seen, but Ivan has faith in whatever possibilities Alfred dreams up.

Ivan watches birds flitter across the tree branches. Katyusha has left him in the parlor, knowing that he may lose focus with company. So he waits alone, and listens.

He’s only been in this parlor once before. Shortly after Natalia’s disownment, he visited his sister and brother-in-law to ask for information. Matthew and Yekaterina, it turns out, helped Toris and Natalia fake the pregnancy. The baby they borrowed from a couple Toris knew: Elizabeta, another former cook at the Braginski household, and a commoner named Gilbert. But Matthew was the one to contact Lars, whose father was selling Lord Braginski records of Toris’s handwriting, the factor that would throw Toris into jail if Lord Braginski couldn’t make his daughter cooperate.

“Al never told me Lars had come to the wedding,” Matthew confided to Ivan over tea. “I kept turning it over in my head, wondering why he’d come and what he meant by it. And then Natalia and Toris needed our help, and Lars was the only contact I had to fix it. It was like a sign.”

“Sister said he visited one night,” said Ivan carefully. “What did you do?”

Matthew smiled. “I asked him nicely.”

Using this information, Ivan told Alfred about his sister’s disownment and the steps he’d taken to keep their father from retaliating further. Alfred sent back a letter oozing with joy, partially for Natalia but also, strangely, for Toris. According to Alfred, he and Toris had seen each other once after Ivan intercepted them. Alfred reiterated throughout the letter that Toris deserved to be happy.

In his ravings, Ivan suspected Alfred failed to see the bigger picture. He fixated on the individual happiness of Toris and Natalia. The Alfred of a year ago might have tried to turn it to their advantage.

Now it’s Ivan’s turn to fight for them. But only if Alfred wants. Alfred is loved by more people than Ivan is, has seen things that Ivan hasn’t, and the thought looms over Ivan that perhaps Alfred has outgrown his faith in soulmates. Alfred has talked only of what he plans to do for work, and only consulted Ivan about the same. And Ivan hasn’t had the nerve to mention what he plans to say in person.

Finally, Ivan hears the crunching gravel marking the arrival of the carriage.

Servants rush to the front to remove Alfred’s two trunks from the outside of the carriage. The side door opens, and Alfred—tanner, broader, smiling as widely as the day he and Ivan met—leaps out to help. He chatters around the carriage to Matthew, who emerges with more grace and watches with amusement. Matthew’s eyes flicker to the window and make contact with Ivan’s. He smiles slightly and turns to Alfred.

Matthew told Ivan that he would only mention to Alfred that they’re dropping off his things and picking up Katyusha. After that, they have a wedding to attend. All of this is true. Matthew is just missing a fourth person.

The main door opens, and Ivan hears Alfred’s voice echoing down the halls.

“—And Ivan mentioned they’d known each other for years beforehand, so I guess it’s no surprise, but the last time I saw Toris he thought she didn’t know he existed. Doesn’t that seem weird for your soulmate to think?”

“Yeah,” says Matthew. He sounds as if he’s standing in the foyer, whereas Alfred is trying to march forward.

“But then again, you’ve been getting some one-on-one time too, haven’t you?” says Alfred coyly. He can’t mention Lars directly—Lars is supposed to be something of a secret in the household—but he knows the same story that Matthew and later Ivan passed on to him.

 “If you want me to thank you again, it’s not going to happen,” says Matthew. He sounds as if he’s smiling.

“I probably owe you some thanks too,” agrees Alfred. He pauses. “So where’s Katyusha?”

“She’ll be down in a minute,” says Matthew. Now that he has Alfred’s attention, his footsteps tell Ivan the two are walking to the parlor door attached to the foyer. Ivan clenches his hands against the armrests. “I just wanted you to see someone else first.”

“…Mattie, you—”

Matthew opens the door, pushes his brother inside, and closes it behind him.

Ivan thought he was going to remain seated, but his chair feels like it’s on fire. He leaps up the minute the door is closed, and he stares at Alfred.

Alfred gapes back.

Ivan takes him in. Even beyond his appearance, he thinks of all the ways he knows Alfred has changed. He remembers their correspondence. He recalls the way they trade information about the stars, favorite books, gossip about the nobles. Stories. Hopes. Fears.

Alfred may not be the right station, but he’s the right man.

“Marry me,” says Ivan.

“Huh?”

Too quiet, Ivan supposes. But it’s either that or shout it. “Marry me,” he says, his voice a little stronger. He takes several steps forward until he’s standing barely a foot away from Alfred. “I am asking you to marry me.”

“We…” Alfred clears his throat wetly. His spectacles catch the light of the sun through the window. “I thought you needed to stage.”

“I no longer want to. Knowing you like I do, I fear I can’t.” He takes Alfred’s hand. “I cannot run. I am not that man. But…with Natalia marrying Toris, with my father thinking she has children, I do not need an heir. So what need do I have for a wife?” He squeezes Alfred’s hand. It evokes some choked noise in Alfred’s throat. “I can wait to become lord. I can postpone my father’s will. I can pretend to be a lifelong bachelor, if I know you are mine in some way.”

“And…what changed?” asks Alfred. His voice is breaking, and despite himself, he’s smiling, beaming. “I’ve always been your soulmate. I was already waiting for you.”

“And now I am no longer afraid to take you. Not now that I know who you are, and who I am.”

“Who am I, then?”

“You are Alfred. And I am the man who loves you.”

“…Well then come here, big guy.”

Alfred holds his arms apart, and Ivan slips into them. Ivan is still a good half a foot taller than Alfred, and he looks down at his soulmate’s hair, drinking in how he feels pressed against his chest. They haven’t been pressed this close together in years. Neither of them has cried in even longer.

Ivan realizes belatedly that his own vision is growing a little blurry.

“You are making me cry,” he says. “That’s hardly fair.”

“Serves us both right,” says Alfred, and he leans up to press his lips against Ivan’s.

He misses the exact center of Ivan’s lips, and he tastes dehydrated after his long trip. It’s perfect. Ivan wraps his arms around Alfred to support him, to deepen the kiss.

When they break apart, he kisses Alfred’s cheeks for good measure. Alfred laughs, still sounding slightly choked.

“Wanna know the best part?” he asks.

“What is it?”

“We’re gonna go to Toris’s and Natalia’s wedding. Toris is going to have all his friends, and Natalia will have you and me and Mattie and Katyusha.” Alfred leans in conspiratorially, until his lips are brushing against Ivan’s chin. “And we’re gonna kiss in front of _all_ of them.”

Ivan usually gives vacant smiles to the servants, and to the nobles, and to his family. He can’t remember the last time his cheeks have ached enough to burst, and his heart along with it.

“I look forward to it.”


	5. Epilogue: Love Is Strong Enough, Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nikolai Braginski is heading down the same path as his uncle, and Ivan realizes that something has to give.
> 
> [Epilogue to Not With Haste, Not a Chance, The Thought of Having You Around, and The Only One I Ever Believed in.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello - it's me. With more. Because I keep reading your (beautiful, amazing) comments and realizing that I left you guys with a kind of shitty ending. So here's a lengthy (15K) two-part epilogue, complete with plot.
> 
> I considered making this its own story since it summarizes all of my soulmate AUs, but ultimately it's Ivan's story to tell, so I'm just going to attach this to TOOIEBI. I do plan to post two oneshots to the end of Not With Haste and TToHYA, to tell people who follow those stories that there's more, so if you feel like reading those then they should be up soon.
> 
> The title of this epilogue, Love Is Strong Enough, comes from the song "San Francisco" by the Mowgli's. I think it's a nice celebration of love, and damn is it catchy.

Ivan watches his nephew make his way across the ballroom floor. This is the first time Nikolai has displayed any sort of direction—he usually wanders, politely bowing his head at the families a Braginski owed respect. Something has caught Nikolai’s eye, though, and while his walk appears as smooth as always, Ivan senses his newfound determination.

“Something up?”

Alfred speaks up from behind Ivan and hands him a glass of wine. Ivan nods at his soulmate in thanks and casts his eyes towards Nikolai.

“He is walking towards something.”

Alfred hums, his eyes following Ivan’s. “Or someone.”

Halfway across the ballroom, Nikolai has emerged from the crowd of mingling nobles and come to stand before a girl speaking softly with Lord Emil Bondevik. Nikolai waits, hands clasped behind his back until Lord Bondevik has finished speaking, and then he says a short sentence to the girl.

The girl says a longer sentence in return. She has light brown hair, like Nikolai’s, and a face predisposed to smiling. When Ivan has noticed her this evening, he’s caught her trying multiple times to straighten her shoulders in the posture of a noble. He knows because he’s taught Nikolai likewise.

Nikolai stills. His shoulders lift in a surprised laugh, and the next thing Ivan knows, he’s rolling up his sleeve and displaying the sentence on his arm.

Oh.

“ _Sorry, I’m saving that for my soulmate_.” Alfred mutters Nikolai’s words from memory. Ivan tears his gaze away to find Alfred smiling. He looks up at Ivan, eyes wide and a little wet. “Ivan, he asked her to dance.”

Ivan looks again to his nephew, who’s now guiding the girl with a lightly trembling hand to the dance floor. Both are keeping their eyes on the floor, suppressing grins. Behind them, Lord Bondevik folds his arms and examines their backs with a curious, somewhat satisfied expression. He then sweeps his gaze across the ballroom until he finds Ivan against the opposite wall and makes eye contact.

Lord Bondevik raises an eyebrow.

“I think,” says Ivan to Alfred, “we have some questions to ask as well.”

* * *

“I know you want her for yourself, but let me make my case.”

Ivan stares at Lord Bondevik. He expected that, by privately meeting the younger lord after the ball, he would only establish the identity of his nephew’s soulmate. Lord Bondevik, however, doesn’t seem to have the time to pretend they’re not negotiating yet.

Kaoru Wang, a renowned merchant and Lord Bondevik’s rumored soulmate, returns from the door he’s just closed and sits beside Lord Bondevik. He leans backward in his chair and crosses his arms.

“She wants to be a Bondevik,” says Lord Bondevik. “She’s not fully trained, but—”

“Emil,” says Kaoru. He glances sideways at Lord Bondevik, who frowns and looks away. Ivan guesses that Lord Bondevik is already deviating from a pre-planned negotiation tactic, because Kaoru takes over. “She stowed away on my ship when I was visiting two years ago,” says Kaoru. “She showed Emil her words and begged him to make her the heir. Because nobody but a noble asks someone to dance, you know. She knew she was meant to be noble.”

“ _And_ she’s my niece,” says Lord Bondevik. “She’s already a Bondevik, anyway. We just have to keep her in the family.”

“Which you could help with,” says Kaoru. He sits up straighter. “Just let your heir marry into the Bondeviks.”

Ivan looks between the two men before him. He wishes Alfred were here, more out of habit than need. Alfred is chaperoning the two newly-discovered soulmates, and Ivan thinks he can barter enough for them both.

“Your niece,” he says to Lord Bondevik. “The daughter of your brother?”

“Yes.”

“The same brother who ran away?”

“Yes, to be with his soulmate.”

“A man?”

Lord Bondevik stills. “I don’t see how you would know that.”

“Alfred Jones and I are soulmates,” says Ivan. “And Alfred knows your brother’s situation quite well. Which means that your niece—Anna?”

“Yes,” says Lord Bondevik, but he’s quieter this time.

“She is adopted. She does not have your brother’s blood. But Nikolai is my sister’s son by birth. He is a true-blooded Braginski.”

“The son of a servant,” points out Kaoru. “That’s who you’re going to give the family title to?”

“Better a half-blooded noble than a full-blooded commoner,” says Ivan. “And besides, I have been grooming him for the title since his youth, _and_ he is male. Your niece would have married into another family regardless.”

“Not if we could convince the family that she had the blood,” says Lord Bondevik bitterly.

“And I value your attempt.” Ivan leans forward, forgoing propriety. “Can you not adopt?” he asks. “Your brother did. I did. Adopt someone with blond hair, like yourself and your brother. A male, even.”

Kaoru and Lord Bondevik exchange looks. “It hasn’t been high on our list of priorities,” says Kaoru.

“You are younger,” Ivan concedes politely, and it’s true. Lord Bondevik and his soulmate are in their mid-thirties, whereas Ivan, Alfred, and nearly everyone he knows are halfway through their forties. At this time in their lives, though, their parents were staged or matched and their children halfway to grown. For every noble marriage Ivan counts, he knows of at least one noble postponing marriage until his or her parents die and can no longer push for a staging. In a strange way, Ivan is in both groups; in public he is a lord too invested in his social work to find a bride, and at home he is married to his soulmate and live-in head of charity.

Kaoru and Lord Bondevik are following a similar path to Alfred and Ivan, albeit a little belatedly. Kaoru often disappears from the noble scene thanks to his long stints of trade away from their city, but when he returns, he attends every event with Lord Bondevik and stays at his side in a manner that reminds many gossips of a wife. Lord Bondevik neither confirms nor denies these rumors, but two years ago he shook the noble world by announcing an heir, Anna Bondevik, the daughter of his belated brother. Ivan largely remembers because he felt cheated—he’d announced Nikolai as heir a few years prior, and the gossip surrounding the event only stirred because of Lord Bondevik’s echoing announcement. It didn’t help that Alfred already knew the girl’s parents and could attest to the fact that Lord Bondevik wasn’t even using this tactic on a half-blooded noble.

Honestly, Ivan doesn’t know how Lord Bondevik expected to keep his niece in the family. She’s female and not related by blood. But if there’s anything Ivan knows from the arguments he and Alfred had, before they asked Toris and Natalia for the largest favor they could ever ask, it’s that the matter of heirs drives a wedge between same-sex soulmate pairs. He suspects that Kaoru and Lord Bondevik faced the same argument, until the solution stowed herself on a ship and begged to meet her soulmate.

“It’s just our luck,” says Lord Bondevik. “Of all the nobles she could be matched with, it’s the one family who knows where Lukas went.”

“At least we share a burden,” says Ivan. “You did not believe that Natalia died too?”

The corner of Lord Bondevik’s mouth turns up. “Alfred and I do the same work, and he knows my family. We have to talk sometimes, although now I understand why it was never about you. But he knows a little too much about Nikolai’s parents for them to have been dead such a long time.”

“He continues to live with her,” says Ivan. “We only borrow him for lessons and the occasional ball.”

“This was Anna’s first ball,” says Kaoru. He eyes Ivan. “Does your sister approve?”

“She knows the necessity,” says Ivan.

“That’s not the same thing.”

“She approves,” Ivan rephrases. At least, she did when Nikolai was eight years old and Ivan first asked. He knows his sister well enough to know she would have said otherwise, if she changed her mind.

Kaoru stares at him a moment longer, and then nods. “You know, I tried to send Anna back to her parents,” he says. “They sent two letters before I could. Lukas’s was basic—he just asked Emil to take care of her. Mathias guessed why she left. He knew she wouldn’t wait for her soulmate forever.”

“Does he approve, then?” asks Ivan.

“As long as she finds what she’s looking for,” says Kaoru. “And tonight she did.”

Lord Bondevik jerks away to examine Kaoru. “ _This_ is your idea of negotiation?”

“It’s a lost sale,” says Kaoru, still looking at Ivan. “You’ll take care of her, won’t you?” he asks.

“She’s my niece!” says Lord Bondevik.

“And mine.” Kaoru finally turns to look back at his soulmate. “Emil, we were only a stop for her. Nikolai Braginski was her final destination, and she’s there. Now all we can do,” he says, gesturing to Ivan, “is make sure that where she settles isn’t going to make her miserable.”

“But what about…?” Lord Bondevik looks lost.

Kaoru sighs and sits back. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll know what to do when we find another heir, anyway.”

The two of them share a moment of defeat. Then, as one, they turn to look at Ivan.

For the first time in this conversation, Ivan feels like the one backed into a corner. “She will be cared for,” he says. At least with his nephew as her soulmate, he can promise that.

* * *

“Ivan?”

Ivan looks up from his paperwork to see Alfred leaning in his doorframe, frowning. He pushes aside his paperwork and stands to meet Alfred halfway. “What is wrong?” he asks.

“I have something you should see,” says Alfred, holding out a single piece of parchment.

Ivan takes it and reads.

 _Dear Anna,_  
~~I would be pleased if~~  
~~It would be my pleasure to~~  
_Please meet me at Starling Bakery this Thursday afternoon, as soon as you finish lunch. My uncle Feliks will greet you and bring you upstairs. Don’t tell your uncles._  
_Yours,_  
_Nikolai_

Ivan wants very badly to believe in the innocence of this letter. “So he intends to show her where he grew up,” he says. “I do not see why I need to read this before he sends it.”

“That’s just the thing,” says Alfred. “You weren’t _supposed_ to read it. You know how I got this? There’s a girl, Alexandra, who comes to my afternoon reading lessons, and she asked me for directions to the Bondevik manor because her friend asked her to take this there. I told her I’d take it for her.”

Alfred jerks his finger at the paper. “You know who else did this shit, Ivan? Me and you. You know how I’d give a note to Mattie for you, and he’d pass it on? This is exactly that!”

Ivan realizes that he’s holding his breath. “Alfred, he would not…”

“Ivan, he’s meeting her upstairs. I mean, we’ve done a pretty good job of keeping the commoners from knowing about Nikolai’s status, even if we had to tell the nobles, so it’s definitely not because he’d be recognized. And if he wanted to meet her, he _knows_ he can ask us—he knows we’re soulmates, we know we want him to find his! So…so why is he doing this?”

“Are you sure you are not angry because you are feeling betrayed?” Ivan asks. Between him and Alfred, Alfred was the one to first win Nikolai’s affection. Ivan has his respect, but Alfred remains the confidante and the messenger between uncle and nephew.

“C’mon, Ivan, you gotta have a bad feeling about this too. Wanting time together is normal, but wanting it hidden from us isn’t.” Alfred looks up at Ivan, and in his eyes Ivan can see the confusion and the fear. “…What if he doesn’t want this anymore? What if we’re pushing him into the title against his will?"

Looking back at this scrap of a note, Ivan sees Nikolai’s handwriting, the fine script of a noble. Literacy was one of Nikolai’s first priorities, and Ivan understood even at the time that a title didn’t bear as much interest to a ten-year-old boy as a love like his parents had. He thought he’d made it clear that he meant to help Nikolai find his soulmate, and if Ivan valued having an heir just as much as helping his nephew, well, only he and Alfred knew. This letter, slight and secretive, punctures a hole in that idea.

“Do we assume?” Ivan asks Alfred. Their sides are pressed together as they stare down at the paper Ivan is holding.

“We should ask,” Alfred says.

“Really?”

“Don’t you wish your parents asked you?”

“They knew I wanted the family title.”

“No, they told you you wanted it. Didn’t you wish your parents asked you about me?”

“Frankly, no. My father would have harmed you.”

“And we need to tell Nikolai we wouldn’t hurt Anna. Or…or separate them, or something. Hell, we’re getting them married. Anything he wants, he talks to us.” Alfred looks forlornly at the letter. “I just don’t want him to think we’re forcing him into anything.”

Ivan nods vacantly. He’d been so sure, when he first got Natalia’s permission, that adopting Nikolai was best for all parties. Now he worries that he needs to renew his increasingly-guilty conscience.

* * *

Alfred insists that he be the one to talk to Nikolai. Ivan is hurt, but not hurt enough to deny that Alfred will have the better effect. Alfred promises he’ll be gentle when he approaches the soulmate pair at Starling Bakery, and he’ll report directly to Ivan when their conversation is done.

Ivan doesn’t trust himself to work while the discussion is taking place, so he visits his sister.

Natalia opens the door to the cottage at the edge of the woods. Her brow furrows. “Trouble already?”

“Your son is currently meeting his soulmate at Starling Bakery. He tried to send a letter to her through a commoner.”

“Alexandra.” Natalia nods.

“You know?”

“Of course I do,” says Natalia. She departs from the doorway, but leaves the door open. Ivan enters and shuts it.

Natalia sets a kettle to boil at the stove. She takes a moment to stare out the window, something Ivan has seen her do more with every visit.

“How have you been?” he asks abruptly. He knows there are reasons besides Nikolai that he needs to see his sister.

“Better,” says Natalia. “Since Nikolai met Anna, she’s all he can talk about. It’s a good change.”

Ivan doesn’t voice the question that bubbles up. Natalia turns around and answers him anyway. “I like hearing it. Toris and I had such a different courtship. Nikolai's will be better.”

“Yours was good,” Ivan says.

“Mine was my own fault,” says Natalia. “I never wanted a soulmate, and only when Toris was gone did I realize I wanted him.” Her arms, crossed against her chest, begin to look more like she’s holding herself together. “I wasted time.”

“He valued every minute,” says Ivan. He means it in comfort, but he worries that he sounds like he’s scolding. “Even when you didn’t know who he was. You know that.”

“I know now.” Natalia’s eyes flicker as she realizes her position and thrusts her arms away from herself. She busies them finding two cups and some tea leaves.

“I am sure Toris would be proud,” says Ivan. “His son is already much more forward than he was.”

“Nikolai is too much like his father,” says Natalia. She trains her eyes on the kettle, which is puffing its first bursts of steam. “He relies too much on the soulmate bond.”

“So you discouraged him from meeting Anna today?”

“No. I told him to meet her.”

Ivan stares at his sister, who continues looking at the kettle.

“Natalia,” says Ivan, not sure if he’s angry or hurt. “You wanted him to become the Braginski heir. You gave me permission to teach him our family’s ways.”

“Yes. When Nikolai was ten, and when I had a husband to fight with about the matter. When Toris could point out that you were using Nikolai’s hopes about his soulmate to take him into a world I left, and when I could ignore him because that world gave me Toris. Toris is dead now, Brother, and no title or wealth will bring him back.” Natalia’s eyes snap to her brother’s, simmering with some of the fierceness she had as a teen. “I only have Nikolai to remind me of him, and every day—every day I remember I owe my brother, but I owe my son. I owe him too, Ivan.”

The kettle’s whistle pierces through Natalia’s words, and she turns to the stove. “Tea is ready,” she says.

Ivan sits still. He doesn’t even move his hand to accept the cup Natalia places on the table before him. She sits up straight like the noblewoman she was supposed to be. She holds her teacup but doesn’t drink, and she looks over Ivan’s shoulder to where he knows her bedroom is.

“Father disinherited me,” she says after a few minutes. “He disinherited me because I pretended to have a baby. Because I showed just how far I had strayed from our family’s values, to taint myself and prove my commitment to a life that wasn’t his. And over time, I became committed. Then you and Alfred came, begging us for our son, and suddenly I had obligations again. Toris never asked anything of me, but we both asked something of you.”

“My protection,” Ivan murmurs. “To keep Father away.”

Natalia nods. They’re silent a moment, and then she snorts. “You remember Toris’s moments of panic.”

Ivan keeps eye contact, understanding. He only saw one instance, when he and Alfred had sat in this same room and said that the time had come to discuss Nikolai’s future. Toris had gone pale—his hands had begun to shake—his voice cracked—and the next thing Ivan knew Natalia was shoving him and Alfred outside and barking at them to return another day. She explained later that Toris suffered those moments of panic not often but regularly enough, when what he cared about most came under threat.

“He once had one as I was telling a story to Nikolai. Rumpelstiltskin, you remember it?”

“Where the baby almost went to the troll?”

“Imp. Because the mother owed him her firstborn, for saving her life and helping her marry the king. I never told that story again.”

“I am the imp, then.”

“An even worse imp than the story,” agrees Natalia. “We never made any bargain with you, but neither Toris nor I knew how to say no to you and Alfred. Alfred led me to Toris, if only by accident, and you spared us from Father’s wrath. Even if we didn’t owe you our life together, we knew we were so fortunate to have Nikolai. More fortunate than you were.”

“You did not have to share him,” says Ivan. “We would have found another way. Another heir.”

“The servants gossip. Rumors of my motherhood were already years old. It would have made so much sense to have Nikolai appear. We could finally repay you. And Nikolai wanted so desperately to meet his soulmate. We’d already taught him the basics of writing, but he knew he wouldn’t meet his soulmate here. You were his best chance.” Natalia looks her brother in the eye. “And I chose to believe that.”

“And now he has. You were right.”

“Now he has. And now what part of this deal benefits him?”

“He…he can marry her. And provide for her.”

“He could already,” says Natalia. “Toris taught him to bake.”

“A pastime.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you saw him at work. Baking is all he has left of Toris. I know it, and Feliks knows it, and probably Alfred too.”

“Not Alfred.” Alfred would have told him, Ivan’s sure of it. And he seemed so devastated to think that Nikolai was no longer happy with the plan. Ivan, too, is feeling increasingly uneasy as he sees his sister alone in a kitchen she’d shared with her soulmate, reevaluating the biggest decisions of her life in the frame of his death.

“I wish I had done more,” says Ivan. “For Toris.”

“You couldn’t have. He was too ill by the time we thought to reach you.”

“If I had checked in, or sent a doctor faster—”

“Do not even _think_ of blaming yourself the way I blame me. He said he was fine. I believed him. He was wrong, and now he’s dead.”

“I am sorry.”

“I am too.” She sighs. “So is Nikolai. I made too many mistakes with Toris. I see that now. And I worry that Nikolai will let the noble world influence how he wants his life to be. Just as I did.” She looks up and meets Ivan’s eyes. “And I am sorry, Brother, but you are part of that world.”

* * *

“I never got to Nikolai,” Alfred says as soon as Ivan is sitting on the fence beside him. They stare out into the woods together, their backs to the Braginski property, in nearly the exact spot where Ivan took Alfred the first time he knew they were soulmates. In the past it felt like a battleground, each of them fighting for their own interests, but now Ivan considers their seating as something like a confessional. Alfred goes first.

“Feliks intercepted me before I could get upstairs. He told me he wasn’t letting anybody up to disturb them. I swear he dotes over Nikolai more than he did over Toris, but this time it was…fates, it was something else.” Alfred swallows. “He told me I’m losing my touch with commoners. Which…I get it, I’m with you all the time, I’m doing things with noble money, I go to a lot of the noble parties. But he said if I couldn’t guess why Nikolai was meeting Anna, maybe I’m losing my touch.”

“Then what did you do?” asks Ivan.

“I argued with him for a bit. Then some customers came, and I tried to go upstairs, but Feliks ran around the counter and blocked it before I could get up. And he glared at me, and I left.”

Both Alfred and Ivan take a deep breath. The spring air still echoes with last winter’s cold, but Ivan can’t even find comfort in the promise of summer.

“What about you?” asks Alfred. “You were visiting Natalia?”

“She regrets her decision,” Ivan says. He tries to summon the will to elaborate, but too many thoughts are turning in his head. He is no father, and his soulmate is alive; he can’t fully understand Natalia’s thoughts. He only knows that, if he were his sister, this situation would make him sick. He imagines some golden-haired child, the product of him and Alfred, being stolen from him by a sibling he loves to take part in a world he’d freed himself from years ago. He imagines being left alone in what was once a home, spending his days trying not to think of Alfred’s smile and hoping that the world will keep his child’s smile alight even a moment longer.

Just the thought of losing Alfred terrifies him. They’re both robust, although Alfred has gained weight and Ivan suffers from back pains. Time has smoothed them both, settled them into a routine of half-truths among the nobility and subtle, honest improvement of the city. Their marriage feels less an act of defiance and more a statement of fact—a reassurance of Ivan’s love for Alfred, not a counter to Alfred’s old dreams of escape. Ivan has ensured his investment in Alfred by using his nephew to keep up pretenses.

Now, with Nikolai no longer a constant, Ivan wonders what else he could lose. If Nikolai runs away, if Ivan and Alfred are discovered as soulmates, if the Bondeviks take Nikolai for their own—all such distant possibilities, but each devastating. Each wrenches from Ivan the title, the house, the name he has worked all his life to keep.

Ivan finds his voice again. “If you lost everything, and you could only take one thing from your old life—what would you take?”

Alfred snorts. “You really have to ask me that, big guy?”

Ivan looks at him quizzically.

“You, of course.”

“Because I am your soulmate.”

“Because you’re my husband, and I love you. I’m not so much attached to anything in that house”—he jerks his thumb backward to the Braginski manor—“or anywhere else. But I built my life around living with you, and I’m not letting that go.”

Ivan honestly doesn’t know what he expected Alfred to say. Alfred values telescopes and books and old letters, but it doesn’t occur to Ivan that in his own hypothetical situation, Alfred can take something beyond a memento. He can take exactly what he values most.

“How about you?” asks Alfred.

“I suspect I will be cheating to copy your answer.”

“So don’t copy. C’mon, I’m curious.”

Ivan thinks. He has two beautiful telescopes and a library full of astronomy references and guides, lovingly expanded over the years. He has family records dating to the founding of the kingdom, every staging and match and birth and death carefully outlined. He has the writing materials he used to trade letters with Alfred during their courtship, and he has the documents they’ve worked on together, their handwriting mingling as they outline charity budgets and projects.

None of those things will make him happy in this hypothetical new life.

“The more I think, the more I would choose you,” says Ivan, “but if I could not, I would bring our marriage certificate.”

“Hm,” says Alfred, smiling lightly.

“It would remind me that we chose each other.”

“So you’d want that even ahead of all the Braginski things?”

“In another life, I would not be a Braginski.”

“You might not be my soulmate, either.”

“But that is a part of me I am less willing to lose.”

Alfred smiles at him. Years ago that same smile would have sent Ivan’s heart racing, but Ivan sees nothing but his sister, her elbows on the table, her hands wrapped around a cup of tea as she thinks of her lost husband. Ivan wills his heart to beat faster again. He wills himself to memorize Alfred’s smile.

“You know,” says Alfred, “that was all I wanted to hear, back before we got married. Even a little after.”

“It took me longer to realize that fact,” says Ivan. He lets that sentence sit. He hears Natalia’s voice: _I wasted time._

Ivan is wasting time. He wasted time denying he had a soulmate. He wasted time delaying a staging he wanted never to happen. He wastes time now, hiding his husband from the public eye with meaningless titles and a string of projects. For the fourteen years that he’s been a lord, he’s been delaying what he’s increasingly wanting: a life with Alfred. He doesn’t need to shout his love from the rooftops—he only needs to share a roof with his love.

Behind him is a manor that has been in his family for generations. Before him, a forest that hid secret conversations where first Natalia and then Alfred pushed for more, for other, for something beyond Ivan’s current life. Ivan has resisted. Now he strains his mind to remember why.

After a few more moments of thought, he gives up. He takes a deep breath.

“You aren’t attached to this house, yes?” he asks Alfred.

“Yup, I just said.”

“Nor our current life?”

“Right. Mostly. I’d miss running the reading classes.”

“Suppose.” Ivan gulps in a second breath. “Suppose we changed it.”

“Changed what?”

“Our life.”

* * *

“I’m sorry—what?”

Ivan looks evenly at Lord Bondevik and Kaoru Wang. “I am renouncing my title."

“The Braginski title?” Lord Bondevik clarifies.

“The very same.”

“So Nikolai—”

“Is no longer my heir. I requested this meeting to inform you that he may marry into the Bondeviks, if he so chooses. I must warn you, however, that he seems not to choose a noble life. Ask your niece about his letters.”

Lord Bondevik turns to Kaoru, perhaps meaning to ask if Kaoru detects any joke. Kaoru looks back with wide eyes and a helpless expression.

“How do you even do that?” asks Kaoru. “Renounce a title, I mean.”

“I sent a letter to the king. I explained that I have failed the Braginski title in lacking an heir, and I returned all territory, all duties, and all taxation rights to the crown.”

“And your manor too?” asks Lord Bondevik.

“That too.” Ivan settles back in his chair.

“Where are you staying, then?” asks Kaoru. “Are you on the run?”

“I have secured temporary residence for myself and my soulmate, using the funds we had left after I gave severance pay to the servants. My entire household is currently out of work.” Ivan frowns. That took a lot of paperwork, a good portion of the family’s fortune, and a speech to the household that he hopes never to have to deliver again. “If you wish to contact me,” he adds, “you may reach me through Lord Williams or, if you decide to employ him, my former butler Eduard. He is a sworn confidant and a loyal servant, and he would serve your home well.”

“So Lord Williams knows about this, then,” says Lord Bondevik. “Does he have plans to renounce too?”

“I cannot speak for my brother-in-law’s plans,” says Ivan. “I have no desire to cause any more of a stir than I have.”

Kaoru snorts. “Really?”

Ivan raises an eyebrow.

“You’re renouncing your title,” says Kaoru. “Nobody has done that, at least that I know of. And I’m guessing you’re doing it for Alfred, and do you know how that will look to anybody who finds that out?”

“I don’t see how you would know,” says Lord Bondevik to his soulmate. “You’re not a noble.”

“I’ve seen enough,” says Kaoru. He readdresses Ivan. “Already people can guess, based on how you pulled an heir out of nowhere instead of marrying and making one the old-fashioned way. Especially in our generation, where everyone is making loopholes for their soulmates, people are going to notice you outright ignoring the rules.”

“I am not ignoring the rules,” says Ivan, but the statement feels dirty on his tongue. “I have dutifully surrendered everything to the crown.”

“So the crown will control your part of the taxation?” asks Kaoru.

“They have to,” butts in Lord Bondevik. “Somebody has to, and it’s the crown who tells us to collect.”

“In exchange for what? A chance at becoming king? Emil, you told me the Braginskis are fourth in line for the throne. That’s pretty good odds, but that’s also expecting not only the current king to die without heirs, but two more kings on top of that.” Kaoru casts a glance at Ivan. “I just don’t think you're the only one who will think giving up the title is a good idea.”

“You’re not a lord, Kaoru,” says Lord Bondevik, leaning closer in his anger. “You don’t know the pressure.”

“I know it’s drilled into all of you from the day you’re born,” says Kaoru. “Soulmates are for commoners, soulmates are for the truly noble families, soulmates come second to the family—what’s the point of having a soulmate if that soulmate doesn’t come first?”

As Lord Bondevik volleys another defensive comment, Ivan sits back and smiles to himself. Truth be told, for the past month leading to this moment, he’s been terrified. He’s slept poorly, he’s barely eaten, and he can’t remember the last meeting he had that wasn’t conducted in utter secret.

But this errand is his very last as Lord Braginski. When he leaves, after Lord Bondevik and Kaoru stop arguing long enough to dismiss him, he will go to his temporary new home, where Alfred will be waiting.

He can hardly wait.

* * *

 

Ivan hears a knock on the door and waits before he acts on it.

The voice of Marie, the inn-keep, floats through the wood. “Your sister to see you, sir.”

“Send her in,” says Ivan. He shifts in his chair and sets down his book, but he finds himself standing when he sees the sister he didn’t expect slipping through the door.

“Katyusha,” he says. “You should not have come.”

“I have taken care not to be followed,” says Yekaterina. She smiles widely at Ivan and envelopes him in a hug. Ivan towers over her and tries his best to let her hug as much of him as she can reach. “How is commoner life treating you?” she asks.

“It treats me well,” says Ivan as they break apart. He offers his sister the only other chair in the room and bids her to sit across from him. “I confess that there have been some troubles, particularly where Alfred is concerned.”

“He mentioned fearing losing his touch with commoners,” Yekaterina says.

“He has not, I am pleased to say. He heard the comment from someone who meant to hurt him. But he finds trouble continuing his work without the Braginski family supporting him.”

Yekaterina frowns. “I would offer our support without hesitation. Only—”

“I know. You have your own affairs to attend to. Alfred has found some support with Lord Bondevik, although he has encountered some frustrations recently—”

“He did not mention?” Yekaterina blinks. “Lord Bondevik is renouncing his title.”

Ivan looks owlishly at his sister. “No.”

“Yes.”

“He fought his soulmate about it.”

“And it seems his soulmate made a very convincing argument. He plans to steal away on his soulmate’s ship and petition Lord Karpusi to resume his charity work.”

“But…” Well, this would explain Alfred’s frustrations about contacting Lord Bondevik. “His land will be returned to the king, then?”

“As was yours, yes. And Ivan”—Yekaterina leans forward and takes his hand from where it rests in his lap—“he is not the only one to renounce.”

“…Oh?” Ivan’s mind whirrs as he tries to think of families with the same situation as him. A secret soulmate, or a lack of heir, or some indicator that the family title is not worth as much to them as it was to their fathers.

“The Cechs, the Vargases—many more are surrendering their titles and their lands to the king.”

“The Vargases?”

Yekaterina’s face contorts into sadness. “Feliciano Vargas was taken into the custody of the king. He decided to renounce in person.”

“Into _custody?_ ” Ivan’s ears ring. Disgruntlement he expected—it was why he and Alfred rented a room at Marie’s Bed and Breakfast on the outskirts of town, to lessen any backlash—but he certainly didn’t expect imprisonment. Especially not for the same kind, generous painter with whom he first confided his soulmate secret.

“The king is displeased,” says Yekaterina. “Nearly half of the noble families have refused their titles, leaving the king and his advisors to set up interim taxation methods. Some families have left more money than others, and their parts of the city are in disrepair.”

“But—why?”

“Why are they taking money?”

“Why are they renouncing.”

Before Yekaterina can answer, the door knocks again, this time in a special pattern. Ivan recognizes the knock and calls, “Come in, Alfred.”

The door swings open to reveal Alfred, already halfway through unbuttoning his coat when he sees Yekaterina. His face breaks into a smile. “Katyusha!”

“Alfred,” she says, and stands to hug him too. She “oofs” as Alfred returns her hug with equal fervor. “I was just telling your brother about the families abandoning their titles. He asked why.”

Alfred props himself at the edge of the bed, facing Ivan and Yekaterina, and looks at Ivan skeptically. “Really? You know completely about my parents’ history and ours, and you have to ask that?”

“Not everyone shares our situation,” points out Ivan.

“But not everyone’s story is so different,” says Yekaterina. “Our parents’ generation was made more of stagings than soulmate matches. We were taught just as they were, and our grandparents before them, to give up our interests in favor of the family’s standing. But all of the gossip is the same, because we do the same things—we lie about never meeting or never pursuing our soulmates, we lie about searching for brides and husbands, and some of us lie about heirs.”

“It’s all for personal gain,” says Alfred, frowning. “If nobles are going to be selfish, they should at least be up-front about it.”

“Hence renouncing the title,” says Ivan.

“But the renouncement is not harmless,” says Yekaterina. “The king is becoming overwhelmed as he manages these new ownings. And if his capture of Feliciano Vargas is anything to go by, he is becoming frightened. He seeks to restore order. So far the pattern has occurred only within our city, but if it spreads…”

“It could be an uprising.” Alfred sounds almost awed.

Ivan looks at his soulmate with caution. “All this cannot have stemmed from my renouncing the title.”

“If your choices affect so few people, then why are you being sought by the king?” asks Yekaterina. “Why have I had to ensure no soldiers follow me here?”

“I assume because I have not asked permission.”

“No,” says Alfred. “The king’s frightened. He can’t handle things without the nobles there to delegate the taxing and the infrastructure funding.”

“That is so.” Yekaterina nods.

“So we need to send him a message.”

“A message?” Yekaterina looks surprised. Ivan, in contrast, has known Alfred long enough to know exactly where he’s going with this train of thought.

“A message!” Alfred sits up from the bed. “If we can convince families in any of the other cities to renounce, then maybe he’ll see nobody’s happy with the current system. Then he’ll listen to us and—and we can start something new!”

“Alfred, he is the king,” says Yekaterina. “He has the right to establish how our world operates, and—”

“And obviously this world isn’t operating well enough for everyone.” Alfred turns to Yekaterina. “I know you and Mattie are mostly happy together, but—but I asked you years ago why you chose him instead of your soulmate, and I think you just wanted to play things safe.”

“I did.” Yekaterina looks vaguely uncomfortable.

“Don’t you wish you—”

“Alfred, please,” interrupts Ivan. He turns to his sister. “I understand that you are trying to place my sympathies with the king. I appreciate it, Katyusha, and you know that I am no revolutionary. But I also refuse to remain complacent to a system that hides who I love and ignores who I am."

Yekaterina looks at him with a mixture of pity and despair. “And who are you, Ivan?”

“Now that I am no longer a noble, I hope to find out.”

“He’s part of a family,” says Alfred. “He’s a good brother to Natalia and a good uncle to Nikolai.”

“And now he cannot provide for them,” says Yekaterina. “Ivan, it is only me and Matthew now. Only we can pay for doctors, rent, or anything else they may need.”

“My service to them was protecting them from Father,” says Ivan. “Then I decided that this made them indebted to me. Now I see that I was wrong. I will not force my poor planning onto Nikolai, and I will not make the same mistakes as Natalia.”

“And I don’t see why this has to stop with us,” says Alfred. He sits on the arm of Ivan’s chair. “Katyusha, listen. The way things were, nobody was happy. Not me, not Ivan, and not anyone else in either of our families. It was scary, and we’re not permanently settled anywhere yet, but I think Ivan did a good thing renouncing the title. And I know people like my parents would have had really different lives if they’d had the option to do the same.”

“But your literacy programs—” says Yekaterina.

“The programs are just part of the bigger picture. I have people who stop lessons because they’re terrified their parents will find out. I get people who ask me if they’ll be arrested. Everyone’s half terrified of having a noble for a soulmate, and I can’t even tell them what I know. But we can change that.” Alfred leans forward, and the arm of the chair creaks under his weight. “If we get the king to see this problem is important enough, he has to listen. Otherwise how is he going to make the kingdom run smoothly?”

“He may use force,” says Yekaterina. “He has already used imprisonment.”

“He might. That’s why we have to be ready for him. We need more nobles renouncing, and we need commoners. They’re suffering too.”

“Alfred, I understand. Your life has not been the luckiest. But what of the meantime? Charity programs will stop. Food and clothing will be kept from those who need it. Roads and buildings will go unbuilt and unrepaired. Nobles are responsible for all of these things, and losing them means chaos. Would you risk chaos for the right to marry a soulmate unconditionally?”

Alfred and Ivan look at each other. Alfred speaks. “I just don’t see why anyone has to choose between their soulmate and their job.”

Ivan looks over Alfred. He’s developing wrinkles around his eyes and his mouth, and he will probably need to find an actual seat in a few minutes or else harm his back. But he’s speaking with a shine in his eyes that Ivan saw less and less over the years. Now their routine is broken. Now life is new and frightening again, and Ivan can think of no other person he would rather face it with.

He leans up, pulls Alfred’s shoulder down, and kisses Alfred on the cheek. It temporarily dulls the ache in his stomach that wonders just how far he’s willing to go with his decision.

* * *

A week later, another knock resounds on Ivan’s door. This time, Ivan knows it isn’t Alfred asking for entry—Alfred has traveled to see Lord Karpusi and join Emil Bondevik in asking for his support. It also can’t be Yekaterina, who—the last Ivan heard—is fighting with her husband and is likely preoccupied.

Ivan decides to sit still inside his room.

“Uncle Ivan?”

Ivan exhales. He comes to the door and opens it. Braginski blue eyes stare at him. Nikolai grew to be Toris’s height, several inches shorter than Ivan. From the way he carries himself like Natalia, though, he lends himself some stature.

He looks nervous.

“Nikolai,” Ivan says. He ushers his nephew in and closes the door. He notices Nikolai glancing behind himself before Ivan can fully shut the door.

“Have you been followed?” Ivan asks. The hunt for Ivan Braginski, the original renouncer, has intensified. Royal soldiers wander the streets, comb records, pick through the vast networks of nobles and merchants. Ivan is lucky to be hosted by a commoner’s inn.

“I don’t think so,” says Nikolai. “I think some of the soldiers in town recognized me, though. I had to walk to Uncle Mattie’s house and get a horse from them.”

“And your mother?” Nikolai asks.

“She’s taken a week off of work. She doesn't want either of us to be seen.”

A leak of guilt springs in Ivan. Natalia can’t exactly afford time off, being the only breadwinner. He tried to offer the last of the Braginski money to finish paying off Natalia’s and Toris’s old home, but Natalia wouldn’t accept it. Ivan reluctantly redirected the money to Alfred, to fund his visit to Lord Karpusi.

“Aunt Katyusha promised to give me some food once I returned the horse,” says Nikolai. He and Ivan both nod at the same time, and Nikolai focuses his eyes on Ivan. His hands are behind his back, but his shoulders relax minutely.

“Mama wants to know why you did it,” Nikolai says.

Ivan eyes his nephew. “I imagine she is not the only one.”

Nikolai casts his eyes downward. For being eighteen years old, he has a tendency to revert to boyish habits.

Ivan gestures for Nikolai to sit on his bed, and sits beside him. They both look towards the door. “I know about your meeting with your soulmate,” Ivan begins.

“At the bakery?” Nikolai blanches. “I knew Uncle Alfred knew, but—”

“Uncle Alfred tells me everything,” says Ivan. “You know that. He found the letter in the hands of your friend Alexandra.”

Nikolai frowns and looks up at his uncle. “I didn’t mean to make you angry,” he begins. “I didn’t mean any disrespect, I just wanted to show Anna—”

“Nikolai,” says Ivan with a sigh. “You did not make me angry. In fact, you made me very sad.”

This, if anything, is the wrong thing to say. Nikolai deflates. “I’m so sorry.”

“Not for the reasons you think, my nephew,” says Ivan. He bumps Nikolai on the shoulder. “I am not sad for lacking an heir. I am sad because Alfred and I did exactly as you did.”

“Really?”

“For nearly two years before we married. It was stressful and frightening, and I had hoped that you would not know the same courtship Alfred and I did.”

“It’s not the same anyway,” says Nikolai with an odd combination of humor and bitterness. “Neither of us is actually noble.”

“You have Braginski blood,” Ivan points out.

“By half. But I’m no noble, and I know that.” He looks Ivan in the eyes, and for the fastest of moments Ivan sees Toris, his gaze firm and certain as he informs Natalia’s father that he is Natalia’s soulmate. “I’m a baker, and I’m Anna’s soulmate. And it wasn’t until Anna that I knew that was all I was.”

Ivan looks back at his nephew. He slowly exhales. “I know,” he says. “That is why I could not let myself make you be anything else.”

Nikolai waits for some sort of addendum. When he hears none, his face breaks out into a smile. Ivan smiles back.

“I really like it,” says Nikolai. “Just being the two things. Being an heir was fun, I guess, but I saw you and Uncle Alfred and I just…”

“I understand,” says Ivan. “For the longest time, Alfred was not happy about our arrangement. It took longer than it should have for me to agree. I hope that your story will be happier.”

“It already is. I introduced Anna to Mama the other day, and it went well.”

Ivan raises an eyebrow.

“Alright, maybe Mama was a little quiet. And Anna was nervous, _but_ Anna’s a really good cook, and she told stories about her dad who works at the docks and her papa who works at a pub, and it turns out Mama knew her dad. So we got to talk about that. Then Mama talked about Dad.” Nikolai’s voice turns quieter. “She said Anna’s dad helped her realize she needed to find him.”

“How much do you know about your parents’ courtship?” says Ivan. His own knowledge is confined to whatever he has witnessed of Toris and whatever Alfred or Natalia has let slip.

“Mama made him leave for a while,” says Nikolai. He begins to play with a hangnail. “She didn’t want a soulmate. But then she almost staged with Anna’s dad, and after that she went out and looked for Dad.”

“Because she didn’t want to be without him.”

“Because she missed him. Because nobody else was like him.”

Ivan places his hand on Nikolai’s knee. Nikolai looks up. “You are like him,” says Ivan. “Your mother is fierce, but so was he. And he loved you and your mother more strongly than I have ever seen.”

A weak grin bubbles up on Nikolai’s face. “Mama said Anna was trying to win her over with food, just like Dad did.”

Ivan can’t help but laugh. “Did it work?”

Nikolai is interrupted by footsteps outside the hall. He and Ivan instinctively fall silent. There are too many feet outside, and in too thick of boots.

Ivan looks over at Nikolai, whose face slowly grows paler. He sees some sort of realization enter Nikolai’s eyes. He realizes a moment later: Nikolai was followed.

“Is there a window?” Nikolai hisses.

Ivan holds a finger up to his lips.

The footsteps stop in front of Ivan’s door. A heavy fist pounds on the door three times. “By order of the king I demand entry,” a deep voice calls.

Lighter footsteps follow. “Sir,” says Marie the inn-keep, “I must ask that you leave my guests _alone_ —”

“Near the chair,” Ivan hisses to Nikolai. As Marie’s protests grow louder and the soldier retorts, Ivan ushers Nikolai to the window in the farthest corner of the room. From underneath the chair Ivan pulls out a rope, an escape option devised by Alfred, and ties it to the bedpost while Nikolai lowers it down the window to the story below.

“Go,” Ivan hisses. Nikolai looks at him incredulously.

“They’re looking for you, not me!”

“They know who you are. Go first—I will follow.”

With a dubious look, Nikolai scoots himself onto the window frame and clings to the rope, climbing down it. Ivan holds the rope steady, careful not to let the bed scoot across the floor with Nikolai’s weight.

THUMP. The door is impacted. A piece of the door’s lock bounces onto the floor. Ivan closes his eyes.

THUMP. As the soldier kicks the door once again, the rope in Ivan’s hands goes slack. Nikolai has reached the ground. Ivan looks back—the door is about to give.

He runs to the other side of the room and unties the rope from the bed.

As he tosses the rope out the window, eradicating all evidence of Nikolai’s presence, the soldier breaks down the door.

Four men run into the room and surround Ivan, who stands in the middle of the room. The fifth and last man—presumably the man who kicked out the door, the one who argued with Marie—hands a pair of shackles to the men holding Ivan’s wrists behind his back.

“By order of the king,” he says as he watches Ivan be bound, “you are placed under arrest for treason, evasion of the royal guard, and marriage beyond class. You will be held in royal custody and tried on these charges before the king. Your silence is advised until such a time as you may find adequate defense at your own expense.”

Of all of these charges, Ivan is most surprised that they found his and Alfred’s marriage certificate. He thought he’d taken that with him when he left the manor. The only other copy rests with—

Lars.

Lars, whose cousins own this inn. Lars, who promised protection to Ivan and Alfred simply for being his soulmate’s brother and brother-in-law. Lars, who lost a life with his soulmate to a noble system he’d detested since youth.

Lars, who likely never realized that renouncing his title was an option until Ivan did it.

Ivan’s renouncement did not only destabilize the current system of networks and rules. It upended it. And while Yekaterina or Natalia would argue that he is only now about to face the consequences, Ivan realizes that he already has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I killed Toris because I am a bad person.
> 
> I'm hoping to have the next chapter published at max a week from now. I just have to choose one or both of two different ways to end the story - nothing that will change the plot, but just how to wrap things up. Maybe I'll do both, I dunno.


	6. Epilogue: Love Is Strong Enough, Pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really have no excuse for myself. I told you guys I'd take a week, and then I took two months. And the worst part is that it was written - I just felt like something was missing, something was less than perfect. Well, it's not going to be perfect, so please just take it and forgive me.
> 
> I need to say one more time how much it means to me that you guys read this AU and follow it and comment on it. I'm in awe of how positive a response this series gets and of how profound your insight gets, and I want to thank you from the deepest part of my heart for sharing that with me.
> 
> Lastly, fun fact: halfway through this chapter I started writing "Leon" instead of "Kaoru", and didn't catch it until like my tenth read-through. Whoops.

Despite his betrayal—or perhaps to atone for it—Lars is one of the first people to contact Ivan in his gilded prison. Ivan has been allotted a guest quarters in the royal palace, half a day’s journey beyond his home city. Although his furniture and his food remain fine, both are sparse, and he hasn’t been allowed to leave since his imprisonment several days ago.

Lars’s contact comes in the form of Matthew, one of the few remaining lords, slipping a letter to Ivan. “Just like old times, eh?” says Matthew with a sigh.

Ivan looks up at his brother-in-law. Although his quarters befit a former noble, he hasn’t been allowed to bathe or change clothes since his arrest. He feels dirty and weary, despite having nothing to do but rest. “Between you and Lars, I would have expected you to renounce first,” says Ivan.

“Don’t give me that. Katyusha told me the same.” Matthew tosses himself into the chair across from Ivan’s. “Lars begged me. He said I owed him because he took back the records his father put up for sale. Back when Toris and Natalia were faking a pregnancy, you know.”

“I thought you had a deal?”

“I made a deal that we could visit again. We hadn’t since before I married. He came back a few weeks ago and said that he wanted more.”

“That is hardly a wise business practice.”

“But that’s what he wanted,” says Matthew. He closes his eyes and rubs them. “He and Al have been in correspondence. He really likes Al’s idea, the one Katyusha accidentally gave him. About revolution. And we both know he’s never enjoyed his station.”

“And you have?”

“Less and less with every day. But Katyusha’s right—we’re the only ones now who can help now.” Matthew’s eyes glance around the room. They’re in foreign territory—who knows who could be listening in from a door or a hallway or a secret passage? He stops his train of thought. “You’re lucky, you know,” says Matthew. “If I didn’t keep the title, you wouldn’t have anyone who could visit you. I’m here to talk you into changing your mind.”

“About letting a man be with his soulmate?”

“About betraying a kingdom. We have a system.” Matthew spits out the last word with bitterness. “The people have to be provided for somehow.”

“I do not recall providing much for the people. If not for Alfred, many of my family’s charities would have gone halfheartedly fulfilled.”

“But fulfilled all the same.” Matthew slumps in his chair, and Ivan suddenly gains an inkling of why he seems so exhausted. “The workload of collecting taxes has gone to the few families remaining. I’ve hired on most of your former staff, and from the Bondeviks and the Vargases besides. The Carriedos have kept their title but call themselves overworked to begin with.” Matthew snorts. “Ivan, I’m not asking you to stop loving your soulmate. I’m begging you to come up with a solution to this problem you’ve created.”

Ivan fingers the letter Lars has sent him. He expects it to be full of apologies and reasons, but no solutions. He has never enjoyed getting a taste of his own medicine. “I do not see why it must be me.”

“It has to be someone.”

“Then let us ask around.”

“Another thing for me to do, eh?” Matthew sits up straighter. “You can’t ask that of me. Already the king is giving me too much to do, trying to keep the cities running. Food distributed, roads fixed, wells and irrigation ditches kept full of water. Doctors nearby. Career training for those who need it.”

“Registration services. Soldiers. Taxes to fund the extravagant balls that fed our families’ egos.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with my brother.”

“And you with my sister. You both prefer things to keep matters safe.”

“And you both act rashly and leave me to clean up the mess.” Matthew leans forward. “Your trial is in three days. You’ll have to stand before the king and explain what you did, and he won’t be satisfied with why you did it. Things are falling apart, Ivan, and if you can’t fix it, you’ll be imprisoned forever _at best._ ” Matthew crosses his arms over his knees. “Don’t make me be the one to comfort Al when that happens. Don’t make me move Natalia and Nikolai from their home just to keep them safe. I’ll do it. You know I will. But don’t make me.”

Matthew stands to leave. Ivan stands as well, wordlessly. He doesn’t know what to propose. Ingenuity was always Alfred’s forte.

“Al’s still in the next city over,” says Matthew quietly. “Apparently your arrest has shaken up Lord Karpusi. He’s had such an easy time being so far from the king that he didn’t realize there’s retaliation for disobeying the law.”

“When I obeyed my family’s will,” says Ivan, equally quietly, “I had to apologize to Alfred. Now that I no longer need to apologize to him, I must apologize to everyone else. How is this just?”

“It isn’t. The world we live in isn’t just.” For the first time that Ivan has witnessed in years, Matthew’s fingers trace lightly the sleeve that hides his words. After lingering there for a moment, the same hand finds its way to Ivan’s shoulder. “Be smart, Ivan.” Matthew looks him in the eyes. “I’ll do what I can, but you have to meet me halfway.”

Ivan nods. The action feels more irrevocable than his wedding vows.

* * *

“Ivan Braginski.”

“King Roderich.” Ivan bows.

King Roderich’s face remains impassive. “I doubt that you deserve to be addressed with the family name you have forsaken. Allow me to be optimistic that you will take it back.”

Ivan sees that the king, perched straight-backed on his throne with Queen Lili at his right, is attempting to offer an olive branch. It’s more than generous. Ivan hates to throw it back in his face.

“Your generosity is well-received,” says Ivan, “but your optimism is misplaced.”

One side of King Roderich’s mouth turns downward. “Then let us begin your trial with no further frivolities.”

He bangs a gavel on the arm of his throne and calls the trial to order. Looking around as King Roderich reads the charges and the documented background of Ivan’s misdemeanors, Ivan finds the portion of the room behind him to be filled. This throne room was not meant for so many people, leading to standing room only for all but the nobles. Directly behind him are Yekaterina and Matthew, their status officially recognized with two velvet chairs and the best view. Unconventionally, Lars stands at Matthew’s other side. Lovino and Antonio Carriedo, representing another of the families to have kept their title, sit in chairs on the other side of the makeshift aisle. Even Feliciano Vargas, informally imprisoned by the king, has been allowed to stand beside his brother, with Ludwig inching as close as he can without looking suspicious.

Ivan can recognize very few of the other faces present (albeit, he can barely see the back of the room), but a good portion of them wear the plain linens and weary but determined faces of commoners. Long sleeves abound despite the heat—more than a few people here have words to cover.

King Roderich’s final words draw Ivan’s attention back to the front. On one side of the chair-marked division of the throne room lie the witnesses; on the other side, Ivan alone faces the king, queen, and royal advisor.

“How do you plead?” says King Roderich. His eyes leave the paper and bore into Ivan’s.

“Not guilty,” says Ivan.

“Then prepare your opening statement.”

Ivan has spent the past three days doing just that. He takes a step forward—he has been given no chair—and speaks loudly enough that those behind him will hear.

“Your highness, I approach you with a plea from the hearts of every person I have yet met. The system of bloodline inheritance that this kingdom has founded itself upon has become outdated, and has caused more harm than good to the people of your kingdom. No kingdom can reasonably continue a system that forbids the most qualified from power because of only a family name.”

Ivan turns his body so that at least his profile can be seen by the audience. “While I am likely the first to call attention to this matter, I know that I am not the only one to suffer from a system that rewards blood and name ahead of love and talent. Throughout my defense, I ask those who know these struggles to come forward.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Matthew’s shoulders slump. A murmur breaches the crowd, but no one moves any closer to Ivan’s side.

King Roderich is unamused. “I understand that you have been moved by your soulmate.”

Ivan’s stomach turns. If King Roderich has seen the marriage certificate and Alfred's name on it, he knows exactly whom to arrest next. “I have, my king.”

“And where is he?”

“He is unable to come today.”

“Most unfortunate. And not a true soulmate, I should say.” A hint of humor leaks into King Roderich’s tone. “What soulmate abandons his own?”

“I have.”

Ivan swivels around. Lars steps forward from Matthew’s side, to Matthew’s great chagrin. Matthew reaches out a hand as if to stop him, and then retracts it as the king’s gaze follows where Lars came from.

Lars stands beside Ivan. “I am Lars, formerly Lord Van der Lee. I hated my title long before Ivan even thought of renouncing. I kept it even though our laws wronged me.”

King Roderich raises an eyebrow. “How so?”

“My soulmate was a noble.” Ivan notes his careful use of “was” to suggest Matthew ran away too. “However, we disagreed fundamentally. He was afraid to defy his father, but I saw no problem with breaking away from my noble past to begin a merchant future. And since we were both male and had no female siblings, we couldn’t have a blood heir even if we did manage to resolve our fights. This is common,” Lars intones. “Although the laws let noble soulmates marry, they are biased towards male-female soulmates. You call yourself just, but you hide a clear preference.”

“An adopted heir may be treacherous,” says King Roderich.

“And a staged pair creates rebels.”

This voice comes from the back. Ivan turns to see Natalia marching forward. Her fists are clenched, and although her finest dress has been worn down by time and the journey here, she looks every bit the noble she once was.

“Natalia, once a Braginski,” she says before King Roderich can ask her to identify herself. Lars takes her arrival as a chance to slip back into the crowd, this time further from Matthew. “I was groomed as an heiress until I renounced twenty years ago. It is unfair that my brother should receive all the credit,” she adds with a straight face. “I faked a pregnancy to prove to my father that I was tainted—that I had consummated a relationship with my soulmate and, because of my child, could not be brought back into the family. My brother kept my father from retaliation, and I lived a commoner’s life with my soulmate.”

“You have no child, then?” Queen Lili speaks, the first time she has done so. Ivan speculates on the queen’s interest. It is well-known but unspoken that the king’s and queen’s marriage has produced no heirs.

“Oh, I do,” says Natalia. “A son, at home with his own soulmate. I forbade him to come today to keep him from _you._ ” Her sharp eyes turn to King Roderich. “You assume the kingdom would have been better off with me married to someone of my old class. Let my life and the existence of my son prove you wrong. My family has produced two bakers and a florist, and all three of us have contributed more taxes, more skill, and more happiness to our kingdom than I _ever_ would have as a lady.” She juts a finger at King Roderich. “And if I could choose again, knowing exactly how my life has become, I would take a life with Toris every time.”

King Roderich’s eyes narrow. “Your commoner life has made you crude and ill-spoken.” He turns to Ivan. “Your defense fails you.”

“Better a son born of love than an heir born of the pressures of a rotten title,” Natalia hisses. She realizes, however, that she has little credibility left. With a shared look at Ivan, she turns and sends herself to stand beside Yekaterina.

King Roderich addresses Ivan. “Your defense is clearly born of passion, with little logical forethought. Soulmates come second to duty, as have the laws of this kingdom stated for centuries. Those who defend you have inverted their priorities and therefore are as treasonous as you. What do you have to say for your failed duties to your people?”

Behind Ivan, the immense wooden doors on the other side swing open. Multiple footsteps echo across the marble floors. Ivan turns and finds his heart leaping into his throat.

Alfred is marching down the makeshift aisle of the throne room with the same fury as Natalia and the same determination Ivan has known him for since their first meeting.

“Allow my soulmate to answer,” says Ivan, turning to the king and queen. He can’t help but smile.

From a few feet away and to the right of the king, the royal advisor sets down his pen and stands from his table. “This trial has been closed to access!”

“What if it involves me?” says Alfred. He bows quickly to the royal couple, the first to do so today after Ivan. “I’m Ivan’s soulmate, Alfred Jones. And I brought some defense with me.”

In his thrill to see Alfred, Ivan hasn’t realized that he and Alfred are being backed by a group of six men, only four of whom he recognizes: Lukas and Emil Bondevik, Kaoru Wang, and Lord Heracles Karpusi. The fifth man has blond hair that stands on edge and is standing beside Lukas, and the sixth appears to be of Asian descent and stands slightly behind Lord Karpusi.

At the far end of the entrance, Ivan sees three extra figures slipping in. Nikolai is obviously as stubborn as his mother, and Anna as strong-willed as her adoptive father. The third figure Ivan doesn’t recognize, but she appears to be female and with the same light brown hair as the other two. They stand near the back, where Ivan can barely see them properly over the sea of people.

“More witnesses?” King Roderich asks wearily. “What lovelorn tales do you bring today?”

“We bring more than that,” says Kaoru, stepping forward to stand beside Ivan. “We bring solutions.”

“And support,” adds Lord Karpusi. His voice is quieter than Ivan remembers, but it remains firm. “I will be the first of my city to renounce my title, if this trial ends unfavorably for Ivan Braginski.” Behind him, the Asian-born man nods grimly. Ivan belatedly realizes that this must be Kiku.

“Roderich,” says Queen Lili. She places a hand on the arm of her husband’s throne, but not on her husband’s hand. “We must not dismiss what our people have to say.”

“Sounds about right,” Alfred mutters. His hand slips into Ivan’s, and for the first time in weeks Ivan takes a full breath.

Alfred addresses the king. “My mother was a commoner and a casualty of the system. My father’s family made a deal with her to stay away, but my father ended up finding her anyway. They were separated, and I was born. Now I’m a half-noble, and until my soulmate renounced his title I was his head of charity.” He tilts his chin up. “I’ve been teaching commoners to read, on top of all the other things you guys tell the nobles to do, and I think that needs to continue.”

“Lord Karpusi and I have done similarly,” says Emil Bondevik from behind Ivan. “Many commoners only want more pay at work, and the ones who are looking for a soulmate aren’t necessarily hoping it’s a noble. They just want to know and be sure.”

“I can speak to that,” says the man with the hair that stands up. “I learned to read so I could give Lukas a signal that I was looking for him.” He takes Lukas’s hand; he must be the Mathias Alfred has written about in his letters. “He gave me words, and I gave him some back. And if that’s illegal—well, it shouldn’t be.”

“Nor should we value a match between two nobles over any other match,” says Lukas. “When I was the Bondevik heir, I was pressured to marry within my class. I couldn’t. And I shouldn’t have had to give the title to my brother, just to ensure I could marry the man the fates assigned me to.”

“Enough,” barks King Roderich. “I have heard your support. You have mentioned solutions—now give me those.”

Ivan looks at the six men standing behind him. In the three days since Matthew’s visit, Ivan had only been able to brainstorm emotional appeals. Alfred squeezes his hand.

Kaoru Wang and Kiku exchange looks. Then Kaoru steps forward. “With all due respect, your majesty,” he says, “the solution is drastic.”

“So is our current situation. Continue.”

“It would involve the Eastern ways.”

The crowd begins to mutter. One look from King Roderich hushes them. “Elaborate,” he says.

“The literacy programs set up by these men here are all working, right? Continue them. Have classes for everyone, and not just on reading and writing—on math and history and law. From those classes, choose the most promising students. Test them on their knowledge, and depending on their score, let them take over the duties the nobles once had.” The murmur increases. Kaoru presses on. “That lets the most capable people take over.”

“But how can we attest to their strength of character?” protests King Roderich.

“How did the noble system attest any better?” juts in Lord Karpusi. “Regardless of his birth, Kiku has been one of my best workers.” Behind him, Kiku blushes. “I know my weaknesses—I am a hedonist. I give my work to Kiku because it will be done. He carries out my vision for my people better than I ever could, and his scholarship only makes him that much more adept.”

“Alfred has done likewise,” says Ivan. “With only some accounting training, he has taken charge of projects that have vastly improved my family’s parts of the city. And this despite that he is…ah, of half-noble—”

“I’m a bastard,” says Alfred. “And I’ve been to enough balls and taught enough classes to know who’s really getting things done.”

“You speak for your soulmates,” Queen Lili points out patiently. “Do others attest to the success of this program?”

“I do.” A voice from the very back speaks, and nearly everyone turns around as the girl who came in with Nikolai and Anna steps forward. Nikolai watches after her with a mix of nervousness and resignation, whereas Anna just looks curiously.

The girl stops herself at the edge of the aisle, not fully intruding on Ivan and his defense. She appears to be a year or two older than Nikolai. “I’m Alexandra Beilschmidt, daughter of nobody you would know,” she says proudly. “My mom was a cook for a noble household and my dad works at the docks. But I’m one of Alfred’s students and one of his best, and I can tell you all about what he’s doing.”

“And you have no ties to any of these men?” King Roderich asks, pointing to Ivan and those surrounding him.

“No ties,” says Alexandra. But Ivan knows better. Natalia, from the front row, is staring at Alexandra with recognition and a raised eyebrow. Ivan recalls holding this girl as a baby, back when Natalia pretended she was his niece.

The name “Beilschmidt” catches him, and he turns to look at Ludwig, in the second row straddling the line between noble and commoner. It’s Feliciano, however, who catches Ivan’s eye and waves at him.

Ivan turns back to find Alfred no longer holding his hand, instead bringing Alexandra to the king’s full gaze to describe Alexandra’s education. Ivan hears a throat clearing and turns around again to find both Feliciano and Ludwig gesturing to him. Feliciano isn’t waving—he’s summoning.

Slowly, subtly, Ivan inches himself away from his spot before the king. Lukas and Mathias block him from the king’s view as he meanders to find Feliciano. He thanks the fates that the royal advisor, who seems to be the one keeping order in this trial, is too busy recording Alexandra’s statements to notice him slip away.

Ivan stands himself beside Feliciano, with Ludwig over one shoulder. Lovino Carriedo glares at Ivan, but makes no move to alert anyone. His husband Antonio simply smiles.

“Feliciano,” Ivan breathes. “How have you been treated?”

“Not as poorly as all that,” says Feliciano. “This is the first time I have been left unguarded. But that is not what we need to speak to you about.”

“Oh?”

“I have been sworn to secrecy,” comes Ludwig’s voice from over Ivan’s shoulder. “But my old accounting firm has very strong connections within not only the noble circle, but the royal one.”

“Anything you can give—”

“King Roderich’s soulmate is not Queen Lili,” Ludwig breathes. “It is his advisor, Vash Zwingli. Lili’s brother.”

Ivan’s eyes zoom to rest on the royal advisor, who continues to take studious notes. He sees nothing in his face that suggests love for anything other than his job.

“Roderich’s father had a match, but Roderich staged,” continues Ludwig. “Roderich initially petitioned for Lili to find her own soulmate and name her first child heir. The solution was thought to set a poor example.”

“Have Lord Bondevik and I not done the same thing?” Ivan breathes.

“Hence the king’s lower patience for your stories,” says Feliciano, and he sounds almost gleeful. “He already knows. He will not allow another what he himself has lost.”

“You!” Vash’s voice rings out and interrupts Alfred’s and Alexandra’s joint explanation. Vash points his finger at Ivan. “You have not been dismissed.” He looks between Ludwig and Ivan with increasing alertness.

“My apologies,” says Ivan. “I meant only to visit a friend.” He abruptly steps away from the spectators and plants himself at the furthest end of his defense, which happens to be beside Lukas Bondevik.

Lukas looks at him questioningly.

Ivan can’t be caught whispering. He very intentionally eyes the king, and then casts his eyes to the royal advisor. He glances between them a few times, and then subtly taps his arm—the one holding his words from Alfred—and raises both his eyebrows.

Lukas raises both back. He taps his husband on the shoulder and whispers something in his ear, to which Matthias gives one sharp, silent laugh. He whispers to Emil, who whispers to Kaoru, and by the time Alfred and Alexandra have summarized their stance all seven men behind them are suppressing surprised smiles of varying degrees.

“Ivan, formerly Braginski, what say you?” says the king. “Your defense speaks of a quality education as the saving factor of this land. But this is not your domain. Is this what you mean to propose to save this kingdom from collapse?” His narrowed eyes suggest that he’s not entirely impressed thus far.

Ivan takes a deep breath and trades places with Alfred and Alexandra, the latter of whom leaves the front of the crowd to return to Nikolai and Anna. “Your majesty,” Ivan begins. “I believe the solution my defense proposes to be fair and just. There will be growing pains, yes, as we restructure our constitution to better match this system. But you will maintain your kingdom, and you may hand-pick your subordinates for loyalty and capability—something which you could not do with those of my class.

“Furthermore,” he adds, “the proposed solution benefits those at every level. The most intelligent and patriotic of the commoners will be rewarded. All others will benefit from the intervention of one who comes from their stock and understands their needs. A standardization system can ensure no one is being chosen unjustly. Perhaps most importantly, soulmates of _all_ classes will be free to choose one another. Even a king”—and here he takes the risk of raising an eyebrow—“need not set an example for an arrangement that no longer exists.”

“Do you mean to say,” says the royal advisor, “that the king himself may be chosen by this meritocracy?”

“I say nothing of the sort,” says Ivan. “I say only that abandoning the blood standard may be a measure extended to royalty as well as nobility. If the king finds this agreeable.”

Although the murmuring of the room has risen and fallen with various revelations, the room now seems to stand still. Vash turns in his seat, which juts slightly forward of the thrones, to examine the royal couple.

Queen Lili looks quietly resigned. Ivan remembers her interest in Natalia’s pregnancy and realizes that the queen’s trouble in conceiving may not be due to her own womb. From the way that Roderich and Vash seem to communicate by gaze alone, the trouble must lie in will. Ivan cannot imagine falling asleep beside anyone other than Alfred, and Natalia has shared the same information about Toris. He imagines—hopes—prays that the pull of the king’s soulmate transcends that of an entire kingdom’s duties.

The silence stretches for several seconds. Ivan half expects that the king will call a moment to deliberate with his spouse and his advisor. So when Roderich turns to face the assembly, Ivan startles.

“The proposed solution is imperfect,” says Roderich. “Ignoring the East, it has remained unprecedented and untested on this continent. But,” he says, and the word alone makes Ivan’s heart rise in his chest. “The will of the noble class has made itself heard. Our kingdom was founded on the ideal of service to the common people, and the grievous error of excluding the upper classes has been made apparent. A kingdom that does not benefit every soul benefits none.

“I disapprove of the means of my awareness, but I cannot deny the reasons.” Ivan swears King Roderich’s eyes flicker to Queen Lili’s and then to Vash’s. “And while I refuse to negotiate with radicals, I must support the work already done by my citizens. If nothing else, I cannot in good conscience ignore the fates, who clearly signal to me that this generation of nobles is unfit by assigning them commoner soulmates.”

Ivan suspects he’s supposed to be offended by this. He isn’t. Alfred stands beside him and intertwines their fingers.

King Roderich stands from his throne. “With the collaboration of the remaining nobles and those before me today, I expect a thorough proposal to replace nobility with meritocracy. For the moment, royalty will remain untouched. The proposal, as approved by myself and my queen and advisor, will be enacted within thirty days, at which point all members of the noble class will be dismissed from their positions.” He eyes Ivan. “You are very lucky to have the support that you do, Ivan Braginski.”

“I am.”

Ivan’s response is eclipsed by the bang of King Roderich’s gavel. Roderich sweeps out of the room by a side door, followed quickly by his queen and advisor.

Ivan finds himself enveloped in a hug and wraps his arms back around Alfred. The two clench each other, Alfred nearly screaming due to joy and Ivan standing shocked. Over Alfred’s shoulder he sees Anna—she must have sprinted to the front, from how far behind Nikolai is trailing—nearly swallowed by the hug of her two fathers, both of whom are close to tears. Kaoru has swept a shocked Emil into a kiss, and as Nikolai approaches his soulmate, Natalia comes up from behind him and takes his hand.

Alfred pulls apart. “Is Mattie gonna be okay?” he asks, panic suddenly widening his eyes.

“We will ensure he is,” says Ivan, “just as he did for us.” He glances to the side to find Lars has intercepted Matthew’s lips while Yekaterina is standing and making eye contact with Ivan. “I suspect he will be fine,” Ivan murmurs.

“Ivan,” says Yekaterina, coming closer. For all her defense of the king, Ivan expects scolding. Instead she hugs him tighter than she ever has before, and Ivan struggles to breathe.

“Are you angry?” he asks when she pulls away.

“Not angry. Only frightened. But perhaps it is time I become brave,” she says with a glance at Alfred. Alfred offers a soft smile and a thumbs up.

“We’ve got your back, Katyusha,” he says.

“We all do.” Natalia’s voice comes from behind him. She folds her arms and, since longer than Ivan can remember, she smiles at her siblings. A small one, but a smile. “We are family. We’ve always been.”

“And it grows larger by the day,” says Yekaterina. She nods to Nikolai and Anna, who are sharing a kiss slightly behind Natalia, oblivious to all the world.

Natalia rolls her eyes. “I thought the entire point of this trial was to let my son be with his soulmate.”

“Well, sure, but not just him,” says Alfred. “Everyone.” He leans up and kisses Ivan on the cheek. “Good job, big guy.”

Ivan leans down and kisses Alfred again on the lips. Dozens of thoughts crowd in his mind—that he couldn’t have done it without Alfred, that Alfred was the catalyst, that he would do anything for his family and his love, that he did this all on accident to begin with—but ultimately he derives the greatest thrill from letting half the kingdom see him and his soulmate together at last.

* * *

Nikolai made the wedding cake. Feliks provided all of the supplies for free on the (joking) condition that Nikolai start work at the bakery the second day after his and Anna’s wedding. Nikolai, as earnest as his father, promises that he will.

Natalia hosts the wedding and the following party outside her cottage by the woods. Ivan worries that she’ll be reminded of her and Toris’s wedding, but she seems happy enough to direct Elizabeta and Marie around her kitchen and to let Alfred introduce her to everyone in attendance. When Alfred doesn’t have her, Feliks does; his old friendship with Toris seems to translate to protectiveness over his family. Even when Natalia has to leave to oversee food or find her son, Feliks and Yekaterina fall into conversation so easily that Ivan does a double-take at how close they’re sitting.

Matthew and Lars are present and have graduated to holding hands—the earliest of a long series of steps to becoming a couple, minus their euphoric kiss at Ivan’s trial. Matthew is still married to and living with Yekaterina, but both live in Lars’s home, and with every day Yekaterina finds more and more excuses to visit Natalia.

Gilbert, Elizabeta’s soulmate and an acquaintance of Feliks’s and Natalia’s, has found good company with Mathias. Ivan has to pull Alfred away from the duo for fear of letting him get too loud or intoxicated, but Alfred finds ways to gravitate to them every so often throughout the wedding celebration. Lukas seats himself nearby with a family whom Alfred introduces to Ivan as Berwald, Tino, and Peter, who act like uncles and a cousin to Anna. Berwald’s work as a carpenter affords him little free time, but for his niece’s wedding he and his family took the day-long voyage to this city.

Kaoru and Emil arrive late, citing trouble docking. For the moment Emil has taken up residence on Kaoru’s ship, and he seems content enough to accompany his soulmate on trade voyages just as Kaoru once accompanied him to noble events. Ivan can relate; spending a lifetime at a desk wearies even the most hardworking man.

Kaoru and Emil excuse their lateness with gifts from Kiku and Lord Karpusi—still a lord for a few days, as the thirty days King Roderich has specified have yet to run out. While Matthew and Yekaterina left the Williams manor immediately, Lord Karpusi hosts many meetings within his city and collaborates with Matthew on the distribution of the noble funds: how much to go to former nobles, how much to pay the new class of bureaucrats, and how much to invest in taxation until the first generation of bureaucrats can be found.

Kaoru and Emil bring a larger gift along with those sent by Lord Karpusi: Alexandra Beilschmidt. She wrangles Nikolai into a hug, nibbles on her meal, and chats with her parents before leaving half an hour later with her Uncles Ludwig and Feliciano to respectively attend and teach late-night lessons for commoners. Alexandra is one of the top contenders for a bureaucrat position for the precinct formerly run by the Braginskis, a fact which Gilbert won’t stop reminding Ivan about when he spots him.

Nikolai and Anna spend most of their wedding celebration dancing. Mostly they dance with each other, but just after cake is served Nikolai pulls his mother onto the dance floor. Not to be outdone, Anna drags both of her fathers onto the stage and sways with them in an awkward three-person circle while smiling sheepishly at Nikolai. Nikolai only laughs in response.

Ivan’s heart pangs when he sees Natalia’s expression. In laughter, Nikolai looks unmistakably like Toris’s son.

Ivan intercepts Natalia the minute the song is over and she’s released from the dance floor. They sit together at a table beside the one holding the cake.

Nikolai ventures to that table and begins a toast, but Ivan only half-pays attention until he hears his name.

“I told Anna on one of our first meetings that I got lucky,” Nikolai says as he holds Anna's hand. “She has two dads, and I thought maybe I could have one.” Scattered laughter echoes across the tables. “But I still have a father, and I get to see him every day. I see him in Mama”—he raises his glass to Natalia, whose eyes are quickly growing rimmed with red—“every time I come home to her. I see him in Uncle Feliks every day I go to the bakery. I see him in Uncle Alfred and Aunt Katyusha every time I see them being kind to a stranger. And I see him in Uncle Ivan, who did the bravest thing I can think of for the people he loves. Just like Dad would have done.”

The entire group salutes Ivan with their glasses. Ivan feels it’s unearned, but smiles at his nephew anyway.

“But now I understand why Dad was scared when he first met his soulmate,” says Nikolai as he turns to Anna, “because now I have you. I had to talk myself into coming up to you and your uncle, did you know?” Even Emil gives a short laugh. “And being surrounded by all these amazing people who love you, I’m worried I can’t compete with them. But I choose you,” he says as Anna slips her hand into his. “Just like your parents chose each other and mine chose each other. Not because we have words, but because I want to and I can. And I’m really glad you chose me too.”

“Just kiss already!” Feliks yells from another table. Anna laughs and catches Nikolai’s lips with her own. Everyone applauds, including Ivan.

“To our words,” says Anna when they break apart, “and to everyone we love.”

Everyone echoes her and drinks. From across a few tables, Alfred catches Ivan’s eye and wipes away a tear. Beside Ivan, Natalia does the same.

With a few whispered words Anna pulls Nikolai onto the dance floor once more. Ivan rests his elbows on the table and looks at his sister, who seems lost in thought. Of all people, Lukas Bondevik sits on her other side.

“They’re lucky,” says Lukas. Ivan wonders if he’s referring to the time he and Natalia almost staged.

Natalia responds as if reading his mind. “They never gave up what we gave up. They’ll never know how it was to stage. Or to renounce, or be disinherited.”

“They’ll remember,” says Lukas. “They’ll have our stories.”

“They will have us,” says Ivan. “And what we leave behind for them.”

All three of them stare out at the dancing couple. Ivan realizes he’s in the company of—Alfred excepted—the two people who could understand him best: the two people who subverted an entire society for the one they loved. He’s a little late joining the club. But watching his nephew and his new niece and publicly playing with his wedding ring on his finger, knowing that Alfred will approach him with a drink and a petition for a dance of their own—he knows that of all the forces that could have brought him to this moment, only love was strong enough.

* * *

“Professor Laurinatis?”

Natalia turns at the use of her married name. She chooses to use it partly to avoid nepotism; with Ivan in charge of this school and using the old family name, she wants to appear independent of Professor Braginski. But even more than that, she imagines that her married name makes her more approachable to commoners, the likes of whom are still cautiously but eagerly beginning to attend this school.

Examining the girl in front of her, looking at her with the respect of a teacher but not a social better, Natalia thinks she’s made the right choice.

“Yes, Wendy.”

“I got my words.”

“Oh?” Natalia bites her tongue and refrains from asking whether Wendy has told her father. She knows Wendy, as a preteen, is trying to keep some privacy from her father—a jovial man who reminds her of Alfred—but she knows that he would be pleased for her discovery.

Wendy is rolling up her sleeve before Natalia can think of a follow-up question. Natalia takes it as an invitation and leans over to read.

_Thank the fates you learned to read._

Natalia looks up to find the girl making eye contact with her, something she rarely does. She hunches over her notebook and doodles as much as writes, and Natalia spends many nights complaining to Yekaterina or Feliks or Nikolai that she doesn’t know what to do with this girl.

“Thank you,” says Wendy. That seems to be as much sincerity as she can muster, because she turns to leave immediately after saying it.

“Wendy,” says Natalia. Wendy stops at the door and looks over her shoulder, holding her sketching pad and her one pencil in one hand. She hasn’t let go since Natalia handed out the supplies she was meant to use for Natalia’s class.

“You’re welcome.” Natalia leaves it at that and watches Wendy go.

Natalia settles herself at her desk to grade. An ache passes through her, one she’s dulled with routine and time. Nikolai and Anna and their newborn daughter take up her home life, and Natalia’s students give her plenty to do during the day, and her siblings and friends—and they are _her_ friends now, not only Toris’s or Alfred’s—keep her guessing what will happen between classes.

But again she’s seen her lessons take effect, again she’s seen students give words to their soulmates and develop them in return, and again Natalia remembers. She remembers green eyes and a kind smile and the taste of chocolate chip cookies. She remembers walks before dusk and evenings spent nestled together and every time he asked her to read to him because she can do it just a little better than he could.

She makes do without him. She gives coins to the children on the streets who share Toris’s urchin childhood. She reminds Nikolai of old recipes his father taught him, helps him remember the ingredients. She makes her baby granddaughter smile as much as possible so her green eyes—the eyes that seemingly skipped a generation—light up in the same way his did.

But her greatest service to Toris is this: that no one else will worry about registration, the way he did. That no one will have to hide more than she once made him hide. That no one else will all but collapse of fear that his or her family, soulmate, home, will be taken away. That everyone will have a chance at the life she shared with Toris and now shares with the rest of her family.

Natalia looks out the window. She’s expecting Feliks to march up at any minute and whisk her away for dinner with him, Nikolai, Anna, and Yekaterina.

Feliks isn’t here yet. Instead, Natalia sees a starling sitting on the branch beside her classroom’s window. It trills three brisk notes and, with a rustle of feathers, flies away.


End file.
